History Moves in Circles
by Nadia Rose
Summary: Post Hogwarts. In the aftermath of war, Hermione flees, taking her secrets. Living as Harmony Anderson, she seemed to have the perfect life, but the past won't be ignored. Under revisement post HBP.
1. Prologue

A/N:  The first several chapters of this story have been rewritten extensively, to fit a different, and, in my opinion, better plotline than the one originally planned.  So, please, enjoy.  What I enjoy is a lot of feedback—anything at all that you can tell me.  Feel free to send me an email, IM me, anything you'd like.  I do send out emails when I update chapters, so if you'd like that notification, please email me, or tell me so in a review.

(If you didn't read the original version, don't bother reading the next paragraph)

While I'm here, I'm going to put up thank-you's for chapter 13, which is looking suspiciously like chapter 3 of the "new improved version."  So thank you Tess—and you'll find out eventually.  Weaver, thank you for the marvelous review, the longest I've ever gotten!  You figured some stuff out—but I won't tell you what.  (I'm just evil like that—but the dragon was roughly modeled after the dragons of Pern, a great series by Anne McCaffrey)  Amanda, Ron & Hermione have had a lot of problems, which will eventually bubble to the surface.  Just hang with me!

(Ok—I'm done now—and on with the more important stuff—namely, the story).

Disclaimer:  I only own a few characters, but not the universe.  It all belongs to J.K. Rowling.  Anything remotely recognizable belongs to her, and I don't make any sort of profit off of this.

History Moves in Circles

Nadia Rose

nadiarose3@hotmail.com 

Prologue

My name is Brian Anderson, and once, emphasis on the once, my life was normal.

My life when I was growing up was literally picture perfect, something out of a dream almost.  I lived in a small town with my parents, a brother and two sisters, and was one of the stars of our High School's baseball team.  I played basketball, too, but spent more time warming the bench than actually out on the floor.  Not that I minded; baseball was much more my style.  I studied enough to get good grades, and attended my senior prom with one of the prettiest girls in the school.  I didn't have a worry on my mind, other than the next game or test.  Nothing truly earth shattering.

I wish I could say the same for my life now.

After High School, I attended one of the big state Universities, and went to law school, studying enough to graduate close to the top of my class.  I was finally going to get to go somewhere in the world; I was fresh out of college with a degree in law, I'd passed the bar, and the doors of opportunity were endless.  Signing on with a firm in Boston, I thought I had it made, the money was flowing in, and I could pretty much do whatever I wanted.  I was successful, I had money and some power, what more could a man want?

I wanted a family to call my own.

At first I scorned the married men I worked with.  Their freedom was a joke, and most of their money was channeled into their big houses, apartments, and savings for college educations.  I never wanted that.  But then I went home to visit for a few weeks and remembered what I'd been missing.  The joy of living with other people who loved you and watching children grow into fine adults was contagious.  By the time my brother had finally succumbed to wedded bliss, I was fairly sure that was what I wanted, too.  After seeing how happy my siblings were, and my parents, even after almost 40 years, my lone wolf lifestyle wasn't what I wanted because it couldn't fulfill me anymore.

So I plunged back into the world of dating, actually on the market for a serious relationship.  Instead of looking at prospects for a few month fling, I wanted a woman I could spend the rest of my life with, someone I could love the way my father loved my mother.  How hard could it be?  After what seemed like an eternity of looking, I came to the conclusion that there would never be a girl out there for me.

Then I met Harmony.

It was completely by chance.  I had been wandering around Salem Street for a long lunch break, watching the tourists, when, a young woman engrossed in some tourist's pamphlet, walked right into me, making me spill scalding coffee all over my suit.  I opened my mouth for a rude comment when I got my first good look at her, and was promptly swallowed by the warmest pair of chocolate eyes I had ever seen.  I was immediately attracted to her, which only increased when she offered, in a very flustered English accent, to pay for any damage she'd inflicted to my suit.  Not very many people in a big city are that considerate; most of them have their own things to do.  When I turned her down, she insisted on letting her at least replace my coffee.  While we waited in line at the coffee shop, I offered to buy her lunch at a little restaurant nearby and started to learn about the woman who was to be my life's true love.

Over the cheeseburgers and chili, she'd delighted me with tales from Harvard, which she attended, as well as a mini-disaster she'd caused at a party in France with her rusty French.  She'd also listened attentively as I told her about some of my own disaster stories, and I found myself elaborating and entertaining just to keep the laughter shining in her eyes.  In our first meeting, she absolutely captivated me; everything was so new to her; she was relatively new to Boston (she was from England, after all) and all of the sights and history that I thought commonplace she found interesting.  She brought a bit of fresh air into my everyday life, with her endless questions and bright smiles.

I walked away from that impromptu date with her phone number, and a promise to get together again soon so I could show her all of the sights.  Little did I know how many times we would meet in the near future, and how fast I would fall under her spell.

Harmony was the most amazing woman I'd ever met.  She was smart, had a wry sense of humor, and, much to my surprise, had a strong attachment to her motorcycle.  Her cat took a while to get used to, but the English beauty had soon wormed her way into my heart forever.  I don't regret that, but I wished I'd been a bit more observant back then.  It might have saved us all heartbreak in the end.

Within a few months I had taken her home to meet my parents, who loved her as much as I did, and were absolutely delighted when we announced our engagement a few weeks later.  My Harmony and I were married thirteen months to the day after we'd met, in a church with ornately carved wooden doors.  Even then, it should have seemed wrong.  Hardly any of Harmony's friends or family were there; just her parents and four others who didn't stay very long.  I wish I had been able to remember them; it would have saved me quite a few arguments with my wife much later if I had any sort of remote clue about them.

But I had been too involved in Harmony that day to remember the black-haired man with the funny scar on his face, and the redheaded woman who had clung to his side during the whole ceremony.  Harmony was my whole world, I lived to make her happy, and she completed my life like no other has ever been able to.  Soon enough, we'd moved to a little house in a nice neighborhood, close to my work and her school.  For a few short months, things were perfect.

Then things began to get a little odd.  Harmony kept working much longer hours; I knew she hadn't increased her class-load at all, but she kept disappearing for longer and longer times.  Some days I would hear her come in after two in the morning and crawl into bed, and still rise at six the next morning to prepare for school.  She kept telling me she needed more study time, but she was, without a doubt, the smartest woman I knew.  She took a heavy course load, and managed to get top grades in everything, without working excessively late hours.

About a year after we'd been married came the morning I lost my Harmony.  I'd gone downstairs for breakfast to find her sobbing in the kitchen, a very large owl perched on one of the kitchen chairs while Crookshanks continuously wound through her feet, purring as loudly as he could.  Back then I didn't know what owls were for, nor how smart that orange devil of hers really was, but I didn't really think about how oddly they were acting, or that it was wrong to have an _owl _in my kitchen.

When I pleaded with her to tell me what had upset her so, she refused, clutching the yellowed paper she held in her hands tighter to her chest.  Her eyes were what disturbed me the most, because when she finally stopped crying, they were hard with determination, and, more importantly, a glimmer of fear lurked in them.  I had never seen Harmony afraid before, and to see her so then disturbed me.

Reluctantly, I went to work, promising myself to call and check on her a few times.  But the first time I called there wasn't an answer, and I panicked.  I took the afternoon off and rushed home at lunch to find our house empty—my lovely Harmony was gone.  She hadn't taken her clothes, but her voluminous shoulderbag was missing, and her motorcycle was gone from the garage.  It would take me a few days to find out that Crookshanks was gone as well, not that I would ever see him again.

I found a note tucked underneath my pillow that night, written in Harmony's clear handwriting.

_My love,_

_I'm sorry I couldn't tell you anything this morning, but I was too upset.  One of my old Professors, also one of my mentors, died a few days ago, and I'd just gotten the message.  The Professor didn't have any family left, and he asked that when he died, I would help take care of what he left behind.  There have been a few complications, and I don't know how long it will take me to get this entire mess sorted out.  I'll be in a range where my cell-phone won't work, but I'll try to write to you as often as I can, and call if I can get to a phone._

_All my love,_

_H. G. Anderson_

Aside from that note, she had disappeared without a trace, another vital clue I should have noticed.  I called her friends, her professors at the college, and even her parents, but nobody knew exactly where she was.  She had withdrawn from school, and her parents told me that she was somewhere in Scotland, but they didn't know the exact location.  If it hadn't been for them, I would have thought that Harmony had dropped off the face of the earth.  _Harmony_ actually had disappeared, but I wouldn't discover that for five more years.  Once a month, I would get a long vague letter from her written on curiously thick paper, which was never postmarked.  But it was her handwriting, which assured me that she was still alive.  She never did call home.

For a year I lived that way, in purgatory without Harmony.  I couldn't claim abandonment; she was keeping in touch with me.  I even went to her parent's house over Christmas for a planned meeting, but she called with an with a rapid explanation that she had been in France, trying to track someone down, and that she had to be back in Scotland in the morning.  I never even got the chance to speak to her; her father was the one who answered the phone.

I went to work almost every day, and came home every night just long enough to see if there had been any message from her.  I was disappointed all of those nights too, excepting my scheduled letters.  I was miserable, but I survived.  People eventually began to ask where she was, and I made up all manner of lies to tell them.  She was in France, visiting a friend, studying overseas; she'd taken a job for a year, anything plausible that popped into my head.  But how could it be plausible if I didn't know what she was doing?  Even if I had known, I probably still would have felt the same, because the truth wouldn't have seemed possible at the time.  It still doesn't, but I've come to realize that there are things about her I could never understand.

I'd made up my mind that when she came back, the first thing I was going to do was hear an explanation.  I loved her too much to divorce her, but the thought had crossed my mind on more than one occasion.  Eventually I gave up wondering where she was, and just lived, hoping in the bottom of my heart that she would come home to me.

One day, after a particularly exhausting business trip, I was driving home when I realized something felt different.  Something different about my house, that wasn't just the shadows cast over it by the trees and the gloomy and rainy day.  When I tried to put my car in the garage, I realized what it was.  A silver and blue motorcycle sat in the garage, looking much more battered than it had been the last time I'd seen it.

Harmony had finally come home.

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	2. Harmony's Baby

Disclaimer:  No copyright or trademark infringements are intended; it all belongs to the proper owners.

History Moves in Circles

Nadia Rose

nadiarose3@hotmail.com

Chapter 1:  Harmony's Baby

Brian stood outside in the rain, ignoring the way it dribbled down the back of his neck and ruined the expensive shoes he wore on his feet to stare at the motorcycle standing just inside the garage.  The once pristine bike now looked like it had been hauled out of a junkyard, the blue paint was chipped and peeling, one fender hanging on at an awkward angle, spires from the tires missing, tail lights shattered.  Entering the garage, Brian ran a shaking hand over the tattered remains of the leather seat, wondering what had possibly happened to the bike, and if Harmony had been riding it when it happened.

He hoped she hadn't.

Still in shock, Brian walked to the garage door, unsurprised to find it unlocked.  He pushed it open as far as it would go, edging his way past the cardboard boxes stacked next to it.  He looked in one to see what it contained, but found it empty.  Scraping the rainwater out of his eyes, he saw that the lights were on in the living room.  "Harmony?"  His voice carried throughout the dark house.  "Harmony?"

"I'm right here."

Brian whirled to see a strange woman standing behind him at the bottom of the stairs.  "Harmony?"

"Yes."  The shadowed figure stepped into the light, and Brian had to physically restrain himself from flinching away.  If this was Harmony, it was a Harmony he'd never seen before, and one he never wanted to see again.

Her once lustrous hair hung in limp strands, the sheen stripped out of them, dangling over her pasty white face.  The only color in her anywhere was from the huge dark circles under her eyes, and the network of healing scars on her face and neck.  But the eyes, once so full of glitter and life, were what shocked him; the flame beneath them had gone out.  They were dark and still like pools of oil, filled with something he recognized as passive shock.

He rushed to envelop her in a hug, but held her gingerly as soon as he touched her.  She seemed so frail in his arms, like a porcelain sculpture that would break at the slightest pressure.  "My God, Harmony, what happened to you?"  She wasn't ever leaving the country again without him being with her.  He couldn't—he _wouldn't_—lose her again.

She looked up at him, and he could see conflict in her eyes as if she were trying to decide what to tell him.  "It was a car crash," she whispered softly, fastening onto the words as if they were her savior.  "I was in a car crash."

"On your bike?"

She shook her head, stepping out of his embrace and turning to straiten the painting on the wall.  "No; the bike had an unfortunate meeting with a lightning bolt during a thunderstorm."  She limped over to the couch and sat down.  Brian followed her, waiting for her to speak again, but she stared off into open space.

"The car crash, Harmony?"  He questioned, drawing her attention back to the subject.  "How badly were you hurt?"  _And why hadn't she told him?_

"Not badly; just a concussion."  She closed her eyes and refused to look straight at him.  In fact, she hadn't looked into his eyes at all, the way a lying witness did.  She was hiding something from him.  He'd have to find it with his questions, but he wasn't sure he could do that without hurting her.

"Why wasn't I called?"

Harmony considered her answer for a long time, making him wonder exactly what she was thinking about.  A thread of anger crept up into his chest, but he ignored it.  His wife had never kept secrets from him before.  This whole situation was surreal; he thought he'd wake up at any time to find things perfectly normal, that he was alone in his bed just dreaming of her return.  This wasn't the way he wanted her back, but it was better than her coming home in a coffin.  

"It was only a concussion, and my parents were closest.  They wouldn't let me travel until I had recovered, and I didn't want to worry you."  She sighed, taking his hands in her own and squeezing them, looking straight into his eyes.  She wasn't lying to him now; she wasn't a good enough actor to look him in the face and blatantly lie to him.  "I'm sorry I was gone for an entire year and that I couldn't tell you anything, but the agreement I made with Professor Dumbledore was confidential."

_Dumbledore?  What kind of name is Dumbledore?  _Brian removed his hands from her and crossed his arms across his chest, giving her the best intimidating look he could muster.  "So you can't tell me why you ran off for a year, except that you had to sort out some old man's estate?" He stopped for effect.  "That doesn't make a whole lot of sense—I'm your husband; and a lawyer—I could have helped!"

"Yes, you are a lawyer, Brian, and have to keep details of your job from me; I don't ask you about them, do I?" Harmony's voice was calm, but he could see the hurt on her face.  Maybe he had stung her enough to get the truth out of her.  "Professor Dumbledore didn't have the most…reputable…associates."  Brian felt the anger rise again, and pushed it away.  Reputable associates?  She made them sound like escaped convicts.  "It took me forever to hunt them down, and once I did, getting them to accept the…terms…took quite a bit of…persuasion…on my part."

Persuasion?  What exactly had she been doing to _persuade_ these men?  Brian felt the heat rise in his cheeks, and fought it back viciously.  He had _every _right to be furious with her abandonment, but he wanted to hear the end of the tale she was spinning before he starting seriously questioning her.  He couldn't, however, keep a sarcastic comment to himself.  "Now you're going to tell me you really ran away with the milkman, aren't you?"

Harmony's eyes widened, enraged.  He'd really pushed a button this time.  HHHHhHHH"Yes, Brian, I really did run away with the milkman.  In fact, I used him for sex and am carrying his love child."  Her voice absolutely dripped with sarcasm, and she narrowed her eyes to stare at him.  He stared back, unaffected.  "If you're not going to listen to what I have to say I don't know why I even bothered to come back."  She flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned her back to him, incensed.

Brian grit his teeth and clenched his fists to keep from saying something he would regret.  He loved his wife, and he would welcome her back with open arms once she told him what she had been doing for the last year.  Not just that she'd been tracing down some disreputable characters to give them some sort of inheritance from an old man.  There were people who did that sort of thing for a living; she could have hired them and stayed here.  But now she was furious with him.  He supposed that last comment had been rather harsh, but he couldn't take it back now.  What was said had been said; now they just had to move past it.

Just as he considered apologizing Hermione whirled back to face him.  "You're not going to believe me, but I might as well tell you anyway.  What I'm going to say never leaves this room.  In fact, it would be better for you to forget I ever said anything."  He could handle that; he knew more dirty little secrets than he ever thought he would when he became a lawyer.  It was amazing what people would tell a cop when they thought they were in trouble.  Now maybe he'd get a straight answer out of his wife.

She looked down at the ground, and then at him, catching his eyes again.  "Professor Dumbledore was part of a secret society when I attended his school.  He was a crazy old man who needed young backs and minds to do his grunt work for him."

A secret society?  What the hell was she going on about?  Next she would be telling him her number was 009 and she worked for British Intelligence with James Bond.

When she saw the disbelief in his eyes, she smiled, the first smile he'd seen since she had come home.  "I told you it was wild; but I'm not done yet."

Crossing her hands placidly over one knee, she stared at him.  "I was the top student in my class; if I couldn't learn about it or research it, nobody could.  And I was bored with the curriculum; I could do most of what they wanted me to do very easily once I'd read about it.  When Professor Dumbledore asked me to do some research in my spare time, I saw it as a learning opportunity.  He taught me how read several ancient languages in his quest for some ancient artifacts and gave me free access to the restricted section of the library, something I'd always wanted."

Brian could believe that; his partners had dubbed his wife the librarian killer after she'd argued for an hour with a librarian over her access to some very old books.  After Harmony had emerged from the room with copies of the information she wanted, the librarian had quit.  And he knew the librarians at Harvard would literally run and hide when she entered the floor.  She knew more about the library than most librarians.  It also explained why she knew how to read Greek and Latin, and could make out Egyptian hieroglyphics.

He looked back to his wife, who was waiting for him to acknowledge her and nodded.  She continued.  "I helped him until I graduated.  When he became ill he asked me to take care of his affairs when he died.  He didn't want his research to be destroyed if it was fought over, and I wanted him to give me a good reference for a scholarship application."(is this explanation too much?)

Brian lowered his eyebrows, wondering exactly when she had concocted such a fabulous story.  But somehow, it was starting to make a little sense.  Not a lot, but he could see some parallels with the Harmony he knew.  "You are aware that you sound like a female version of Indiana Jones, aren't you?"

She rolled her eyes and cracked a wane smile.  "Yes, as crazy as it may sound.  Professor Dumbledore was actually looking for the holy grail, believe it or not."

Brian snorted; she'd kept her sense of humor.  "So you're a member of some secret society?"  Brian wasn't close to believing her wild story in its completion, but something in his mind told him that parts of it were possible; her parents had hinted at Harmony's involvement in something much larger than her community at school, although he had never asked about it.  Perhaps he would have to call Alice and Rob to confirm his wife's story; they would understand his growing concern that their daughter, his wife, had become temporarily disoriented.

"It wasn't exactly secret," she said somewhat stiffly, "just so old the public never hears about it.  And no, I wasn't a member of that society; I just consulted and translated old texts for Professor Dumbledore.  The money I made working for him helped me pay for school here."

"Which you withdrew from."  Brian needled.  Her continuing school had been a big deal when they'd gotten married, even though Brian could support both of them on his salary.  In fact, it had been a matter of argument, one that had almost ended their engagement.

Harmony looked at the floor quickly before fastening her eyes on his face.  "Yes.  If I hadn't withdrawn, I would have failed because of so many missed quizzes and tests. I can go back part time when the semester starts again; it's been arranged."

_Part time?_  She'd been a full-time student before her absence; had something happened to make her not like school?  Perhaps this secret society had recruited her again.  "So you went and straightened out this crazy treasure hunter's estate and nearly killed yourself in a car crash while at it?"

Harmony flinched and slid away as if he had hit her.  His question had touched a nerve, judging from the way her face crumpled and her body tensed.  "I didn't kill myself," she said in a quiet voice.  "I killed two of my best friends."

"What?"  This was an entire change in personality.  Ten minutes ago she had been furious with him; and now she was on the verge of tears.  This wasn't something that he was unfamiliar with, but Harmony was the most stable woman he knew.

"I killed my friends," her voice wavered.  She clenched her eyes shut, as if she was trying to shut out a memory.  "I was driving, one was in the seat next to me and the other was asleep in the back.  She'd just had a baby; and I was taking them home so they could shower and sleep."  

Harmony was silent for a moment, biting down on her lower lip.  "The other car just came out of nowhere; I couldn't see it in the rain."  She stared out the window for a long time, and he could see the tears streaking down her face.  "When I could, it was too late; I couldn't get out of the way.  I tried; but I swerved the wrong way; we collided on the passenger side."

Brian reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it in support.  Even if he was puzzled, confused, and mildly angry, he couldn't stand the sight of a woman in tears; especially if that woman was his wife.  "I hit my head on the steering wheel when we crashed and blacked out.  When I woke up, I was in the hospital, and my Mum & Dad were there."  Her shoulders shook now, in her efforts to keep from sobbing.  "They told me that I…I was the only one…who s-survived."

With her head ducked submissively and her knees folded against her chest, she looked like nothing more than a little girl crying to be comforted.  Harmony never cried.  Almost automatically, Brian grabbed his wife and pulled her close to him, forgetting her injuries.  She crawled into his lap, tucked her head under his chin and sobbed.  Most of what she said between the wrenching sobs was unintelligible, but Brian heard something that sounded like 'family,' followed by 'fault.'  As his wife's body shook in his arms he rocked her back and forth, silently forgiving her for her tales.  With that sort of grief and guilt it was no wonder she'd taken refuge in another world; she'd probably dreamed up her story to help her deal with it.  When she was ready, she would tell him the truth; he was sure of it.

Eventually she quieted and lay limp against his chest, her strength spent.  He lifted her chin, wiping the trail of tears on her smooth skin away with his thumb.  "Harmony, things like this happen, and nothing can prevent it."  He stroked her hair, trying to let her know he was there for her.  "I know it hurts," but nothing we can do will change what happened.  Your friends are in a better place now—it was their time to go."  It was a bit cliché, but it was what his mother had told him when each of his grandparents had died.  The empty words had helped him; maybe they would help his wife.

"No."  Harmony shook her head violently.  "No it wasn't.  They'd just had a baby; they had their entire lives in front of them—_she _needed them.  After all they went through, they deserved to be happy; to have a normal life.  _I _should have been the one who died!"  Her voice raised to an almost hysterical pitch and stood abruptly, knocking a delicate porcelain flower off the mantelpiece.  It shattered on the hearthstone, and Brian morosely collected the few pieces that had landed on the carpet by his feet.

Harmony, ashen-faced, stooped to sweep the shards into the little shovel kept by the fireplace.  Brian had just dropped his pieces in the little shovel when a sound he hadn't expected to hear in his home for at least another few years carried down the hallway.

A baby was squalling at the top of its lungs somewhere upstairs.

Harmony dropped the little shovel, scattering the shards all over again, and jogged down the hallway towards the staircase.  Brian followed, mind racing.  There was a baby in his house.  Why was there a baby in his house?  There was no possibility Harmony would have hidden a pregnancy from him; someone would have told him.  Her Mum would have told him; he was under the impression she was unhappy with her daughter for keeping the reason for her trip from him in the first place.  There was no way Alice would let her daughter keep a _baby _from him.  Somewhere, in the very back corner of his mind, he toyed with the idea that Harmony might have cheated on him, but then discarded it.  She'd vowed to be faithful to him at their wedding, and if there was one thing he knew about Harmony, it was that she never went back on a promise.

"What's going on Harmony?" 

Harmony continued jogging up the steps, giving Brian a good look at the heeled granny boots she wore.  He'd never seen anyone wear such boots in his life—nor had he seen her wear anything like the nightgown she had on, long, dress-like robes of cream-colored linen, with lace at the neckline and sleeves.  Where had she found clothes like that?  She looked like she belonged in a Victorian painting, not in a modern Boston house.

"Harmony?"

She ignored him while let herself into the guest room, where the crying stopped a few moments later.  Brian stood outside of the door for a few more moments before following her in.

Where he found what he thought he would.

Harmony sat in a worn rocking chair, holding a squirming little bundle in her arms.  All Brian could see was a pair of bootied feet kicking energetically.  His wife was cooing to the infant softly, but looked up when he came in.

"Harmony, what's going on?  Who is this?"

"This is Faith.  Virginia Faith, actually."  Harmony smiled down at her, then turned back to him.  "She's my goddaughter."

Brian lowered his eyebrows, looking over at her.  By now he was so numb nothing would surprise him.  "Your goddaughter?  I didn't know you had a goddaughter."

"Well, she's pretty new,"(this comment is wrong—She's a new development, perhaps?) Harmony amended with a weak grin.  "And she doesn't have parents anymore," she stroked a tiny hand, looking incredible somber, "thanks to my driving skills."

Brian sighed; this child had belonged to the two who had died in the car crash.  Harmony had been the child's godmother, and had inherited legal responsibility for the child when her parents had died in the car crash.  But Harmony had been taking them home from the hospital…why had the child survived?  

When he asked, Harmony shook her head sadly.  "She wasn't in the car; she was still at the hospital.  They weren't ready to release her yet."

"So she's yours now?"  Brian lifted a hand to rub his forehead.  This day had just been too much to handle.  What he really wanted to do was go outside and scream, but it couldn't get much worse, could it?  He'd already heard about car wrecks, secret societies, and the holy grail, why not just add a baby to the mix?

He dropped into the recliner in the corner, staring at his wife and the baby.  Why was this happening to him?  It must have been someone very important he'd offended to get his life turned upside down this way.

Harmony watched him while she rocked the baby.  "You aren't mad?"  Sitting there, in the rocking chair with the baby, she looked very vulnerable, but very strong.  Brian knew from the set of her jaw and the way she squared her shoulders that he would lose this battle, should he choose to fight.

Brian ran a hand through his dark blonde hair, startled to find that it was still damp; he still had his jacket on, and was dripping rainwater all over the floor.  Pulling his arms from the sleeves, he hung it in the hallway, considering the situation while he was out of his wife's sight.

She'd brought a baby home.  Now that was something he'd never think she would do.  Hermione wasn't exactly a "baby" type woman; it was a subject they had danced around for months.  Brian wanted children, but Harmony had been reluctant.  He had understood her reasons, because an education was important, but he wasn't getting any younger and he wanted to be able to play basketball with his sons when they were in high school.

But Harmony had brought a baby home.  He slumped against the wall and sank to the floor.  There were circumstances, but couldn't she have told him sooner?  At least some warning about the tiny girl would have assured he would have some of the basic things they needed ready for her.  Judging from the boxes downstairs she had already taken care of that problem.

He couldn't kick the child out of his house; she wasn't even American, so he couldn't  relinquish control of her to the state.  He groaned, realizing the legal troubles that little girl would cause, and she wasn't even his.  She was Harmony's; or rather, she was Harmony's ward.

Why had she done this to him?  What had he ever done to her to deserve this?

He was only vaguely aware that Harmony had come out to sit across from him in the hallway.  She touched his arm lightly and he looked up to see her arranged neatly on the floor, booted feet peeking from under the hem of her skirts.  "I'm sorry Brian," her voice was full of understanding.  "I know it's a lot to take in at once," she empathized fervently, "you don't know how I wish things had worked out differently."

He leaned his head back against the wall, too stunned to feel too much.  "But how?"

Harmony rubbed his knuckles.  "My life has never been exactly normal, love.  There are times I wish I'd never met that old wizard and his friends, that I could be a normal person for once."  She was quiet for a long moment.  Her amazing mental capabilities had always bothered her; he knew she had been rejected as a child.  "But I wouldn't be who I was today without knowing and working with them."

Brian looked down at her.  "Would you do it again?"

She cocked her head, considering her answer.  It didn't take her long to decide.  "Yes.  They were my friends; they accepted me for who I was, no matter what.  The very least I can do is take care of Faith for them.  She doesn't deserve to grow up the way Harry did."

"Faith _is going to need someone to be her Dad, you know."_

"Am I the only applicant for the position?"  Brian answered wearily.

Harmony smiled, the first true smile he'd seen on her yet.  He knew she knew he had capitulated; she was just smart like that.  She kissed his hand.  "You're the only one I would even consider interviewing for it."  Rising to her feet, she waited while he rose a little less gracefully to his.  "Let's go meet your client."

Folding her smaller hand around his, she pulled him into the guest room, where the little girl lay in little bassinet on the bed.  Brian peeked down at her, amazed once again about how tiny she was.  None of his nieces had been that small.  When he commented on it, Harmony elaborated.  "Faith was born two months early.  She'll catch up to others in her age group eventually."  She reached down and lifted the little girl out, handing her to Brian.

He supported the little body carefully.  She was so small her feet stopped before they'd reached the middle of his arm.  And she was two months old?  She probably hadn't been much bigger than the length of his hand when she was born.  He had to admit she was beautiful though; the five perfect fingers she was using to grip his finger with were just as well-shaped as any of his.  And her face could have belonged to a baby angel.  The little mouth opened in a weary yawn, and she opened a pair of big blue eyes to watch him as she laid in his arms.

Complete and utter trust.  She wasn't afraid of him the tiniest bit.  The little girl he held in his arms had her entire life in front of her, a life where she would learn to love and be loved, to think and make decisions on her own.  She might be a basketball player; she might love horses.  Brian grimaced; eventually she would learn to love boys, too.  And Brian would be there to pick her up when she fell, hold her when her heart was broken, and watch as she got married to the man of her dreams.  He would protect the innocent little creature in his arms as she grew up into a beautiful and independent woman.

He looked up at Harmony, who was sitting on the bed watching them, tears welling behind her dark eyes, and flashed her a blinding grin, which she returned.  Turning back to the little girl, he kissed her forehead, inhaling the curious scent that only babies had.    "I accept the position, Miss Faith."

* * * * * * * * * *

Later that night, as the lights in the Anderson house slowly darkened one by one, a man sitting in the tree outside sighed in relief.  It was about time; he couldn't remember how long he'd been in that tree.  He began to stretch limbs stiff from sitting so long on the branch.

Things had gone well then.  The Muggle had accepted the story he and Hermione had concocted on their way to Boston.

At least something had gone _right in the past few months.  After the Boy Who Lived had disappeared, the magical world had panicked.  Their savior was presumed dead, and evil was still at large._

It was still out there, the thin man knew, but there had been no reports of seeing Voldemort since Potter had disappeared.  It appeared that the man had once more done the impossible and saved the world again.  Bloody perfect Potter.  He was a martyr now.

Dropping to the ground, the wizard straightened his borrowed invisibility cloak and cast one last protective spell at the house before he disapparated.  There was still a war going on out there; he didn't want to be traced to that house, and especially not to its newest occupant.

Upstairs, in the darkened guest room, a tiny infant slept completely oblivious to the presence of the man outside or the battles fought elsewhere across the world.  She knew only that she was warm and content, not that the entire weight of the world she was born into might one day rest upon her shoulders.  

Like her father and brother before her, Virginia bore the mark of a survivor; she had been born with it.  For on the back of her neck she would forever bear the long thin line identical to a legendary lightning-bolt scar.


	3. Family Life

Hey all:  I'm finally back…sorry it took me so long, but I've been fighting writer's block and illness.  But I think I'm finally back on track now.  Thanks for waiting!

Remember, I send out email updates when I get another chapter finished.  So if you'd like to be alerted by email, please send me an email at nadiarose3@hotmail.com, or leave me your email address in a review.

But, anyway…

Jivanna—I'm finally sure what I'm doing now; so I'm not just loitering, grasping for things while I try to finish the plot…thanks for sticking with me!

Slytherin Goddess—thanks!  I've never had anything I've written described as brilliant…gives me quite a rush…

Silverfirexz—thanks!

Bella—Ron's coming soon.  He's actually pretty important…and there are all sorts of _unresolved issues _going on between himself and Hermione (so much potential!)

Crystalite 104—don't worry about not understanding it all; things should become pretty clear with time, as I work my way into the depths of the story.

Brittanie—in my very biased opinion, it's just gonna get better—thanks!

Jounetsu—thanks!

American Hermione—(your name kinda fits this story after all, since Hermione's lived in boston for several years now…) thanks!

G.D. Gauss—I'm working as fast as I can to finish it!  I just have so much I want to do, it's hard to decide what to actually makes it into the story and what else stays on my computer!

Jacks—thanks!

Weaver—I think that you've somehow found a way to hack into my brain….that or you're just a lucky guesser.  As usual, I'm not gonna tell you much.  But the lightning bolt thing gets explained a little in this chapter; and well, as for Harry's wife, do you know any other redheaded girls in the HP cannon?  But you picked up that Jenny has a brother—very good!  He'll show up soon enough.  I will tell you that Hermione trusts whoever it was that was in the tree, although it has caused her all sorts of problems.  Their relationship gets…complicated.  And Harmony/Hermione's story does have a great deal of truth to it…although a lot of it is fabricated.  Are those enough answers? 

Well, this chapter has _not _been betaed at all; it got sent to my marvelous betas only a few moments before I uploaded it here.  If you want to see the beta'd versions of the chapters (there will be some changes) they're at schnoogle.com under the screenname Auber.

Disclaimer:  I don't own them, nor do I make a profit.

History Moves in Circles

Nadia Rose

Nadiarose3@hotmail.com

Chapter 2:  Family Life

Five Years Later 

He was done.  Brian Anderson sank into his recliner, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling.  He didn't know how Harmony managed to do this every night when he worked late.  It felt like it took a lifetime to get his children bathed and in bed, where in actuality it had only taken an hour.  His clothes were wet, his hair disheveled, and he was sure he'd have a black eye in the morning from an unfortunate meeting with a rubber duck.

But he had won; both of his little terrors were in bed for the night, and they had avoided any major disasters.  Harmony would be proud.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, he turned to look at the clock, surprised to find that his wife wouldn't be home for another two hours.  He needed a nap before he cleaned up the mess in the kitchen.  The sweet darkness of sleep crept upon him and he welcomed it.  Just a few minutes, then he'd get up and clean.  Harmony would be _very_ angry if she saw the mess they had made in her kitchen.  Just a few minutes, and then he'd get up.

"Daddy?"

Brian kept his eyes shut; maybe if he pretended he was asleep, she'd go away.

A tiny hand touched his knee lightly.  "Daddy?"

He kept still.

"Daddy?"  This time her voice quavered a bit and she prodded his leg harder.

Brian opened one eye to look down at the little girl standing by his legs.  Her red hair in even wilder disarray than usual, his eldest looked up at him with impossibly wide bright green eyes.  "Go away," he muttered in mock anger.  "I'm sleeping."

Jenny giggled.  "No you're not," she climbed up onto the arm of the recliner.

Brian crossed his arms and dropped his chin to his chest, faking a gurgling snore.  His daughter was quiet this time.  He peeked out of the corner of one blue eye to see his mischievous daughter grinning at him, and sighed theatrically.  "I didn't fool you, did I?"

She giggled again, pushing her hair out of her face.  "Nope.  You can't fool me!  I knew you were awake."

Brian laughed and tickled her ribcage until she almost shrieked.  He tugged her into her lap, laying a hand over her mouth.  "Sshhh.  We don't want to wake your brother up."

Jenny nodded and burrowed her head in his chest.  He wrapped his arms around her, shifting her small weight so her knees weren't digging into his thighs quite so painfully.  After a few minutes of silence, he ran his hand through her tangled hair.  "What are you doing up?"

She disentangled herself from his shirt long enough to look into his face.  He got a glimpse of the wary expression on her face before she ducked away, trembling slightly.  "Another dream, baby?"

"Yeah," she whispered.  Brian rubbed her back, holding her as comfortingly as possible.  For the past four months Jenny had woken up more from nightmares than he had in his entire lifetime.  She never said what they were about, but they haunted her deeply, and that bothered Brian.  Seeing either of his children in any matter of distress made him feel utterly useless as a father.  Blood he could mop up, tears he could chase away with laughter, but he didn't know how to deal with this.

They had tried talking about the dreams, but Jenny couldn't remember most of them; only that they had frightened her.  Brian wanted to take her to see a psychiatrist, but Harmony protested vehemently every time he mentioned it.  He wasn't sure what his wife was thinking; but the psychiatrist was the only other option he could think of.

"So do you remember this one?"

Jenny shook her head.  "No."  Brian sighed and glanced down at her, lifting them both off the recliner in a smooth motion. He knew both of the doors were locked, so he balanced Jenny against his chest and carried her upstairs to her bedroom.  Her room was a palette of soft greens and purples, which she meticulously straightened every day, without being told to.  He sighed; the sheets and blankets on her daybed were already twisted and rumpled.  He straightened them with one hand before laying her down and tucking them around her shoulders.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled off his slippers and stretched out beside her.

She grabbed her favorite stuffed animal, a plush green dragon she'd received as a gift from one of Harmony's friends, and clutched it to her chest.  After a few moments of rustling sheets she had settled herself, and Brian reached over and hugged her.

"Will you stay 'till I go back to sleep?"

He patted her arm.  "I'll be right here."

A yawn.  "G'night, Daddy."

"Sweet dreams, baby."

* * * * * * *

Harmony Anderson cut the motor on her bike and coasted up the driveway.  It was late, and she knew that most of the children on the street would be asleep.  And one of the quickest ways to alienate her neighbors was to wake all of their children up.  Pulling into the garage, she slumped over the handles of her bike for a few minutes.  It had been a long day.  First, not only had the pre-school rush began, but she had been forced to listen to one of her employees read aloud from a history book about herself.

Sometimes the dual identity deal just wasn't worth it.  It wasn't that being Harmony was difficult; she hadn't changed her personality much.  The hard stuff came in the simple things; such as the fact that she had never heard her husband every call her by her real name.  Brian not knowing she was a witch didn't help matters either.  At first it hadn't bothered her at all, but keeping her true self a secret after seven years was getting harder instead of easier.  One day, she promised herself, she would tell Brian exactly who she was.  But not until Jenny was older; when she could understand too.

She swung off the bike and closed the garage door before letting herself in the kitchen through the garage door.  Turning the light on, she dropped her purse and keys to the floor.

Brian was in _big_ trouble.

The kitchen looked like Lockhart's pixies had taken up permanent residence.  The cabinet doors were open, dirty dishes piled on her granite countertops, and a sticky mess that looked like suspiciously like ketchup splattered on the walls.  The table was covered in paper and crayons, and her refrigerator was now wallpapered in all manner of her children's art.

How could one man, a five-year-old girl and a two-year-old boy make that much of a mess?  Cancel that; she knew exactly how.  Troy was still a messy eater; especially depending on what utensil he was trying to eat with.  And when he colored; the boy made one mark on a piece of paper and grabbed another.  Virginia was neater; but Brian had a bad habit of never being able to tell his "Jenny" no.

Not that Harmony could blame him.  Jenny's brilliant eyes and infectious smile could disarm even the sternest adult.  She had Brian wrapped her little finger, which forced Harmony to be the disciplinarian at all times.  It wasn't a role she liked, but it had to be done.  Harmony was glad that Jenny never seemed to take her punishments personally; Harmony had never been equated with evil.  She still had a few more years to go before that would happen.

Why hadn't Brian cleaned up the mess?  It would only take a few minutes to clear up, and it would have saved him a scolding from her.  She strode through the mess in the kitchen, intent on finding her husband and enlisting his aid in cleaning up.  His recliner in the front room was empty, and there were had been no more lights turned on.  She jogged up the steps, peeking in Troy's room first.

Her two-year-old son slept curled up on his bed, covered in his favorite blanket.  He was sucking on his thumb.  Harmony pulled his hand down from his mouth, smoothing away his dark curls from his cherubic face.  He stirred a bit, and Harmony withdrew her hand.  "Sweet dreams, handsome," she whispered quietly and stood, temporarily forgetting about Brian's misdemeanor as her eyes traced each of Troy's familiar features.  He was a blend between Brian and herself, most of his features like his father's at that age, although her Mum swore he had Harmony's nose.

She loved her small son with a passion that scared her; she hadn't thought herself capable of loving anyone with that intensity.  It was quite possible, Harmony mused, that she loved Troy more than she loved Jenny.  As soon as that thought crossed her mind, she flushed, angry with herself.  She had promised herself when Troy was born she would never play favourites, and what was she doing now?  Pondering about how she loved her birth son more than her adopted daughter.  Some mother she was.

Tossing her hair back, she walked down to hall to check on Jenny.

The door was still ajar so she slid her body through the opening and stood in the shadows, wary of walking into the light and being seen.  As soon as she made out the shape of the large lump on Jenny's bed, a smile curved the corners of her pink lips.  Brian lay flat on his back on Jenny's bed, and she was asleep on top of him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, one arm wrapped around Rosie.  Harmony snorted when she realized Rosie's tail was very nearly up Brian's nose.

She went forward to rescue him; she'd had quite a few encounters with the stuffed dragon's tail herself.  Reaching down, she wound the posable tail around her fingers and tucked it up against one of Rosie's wings.  The little dragon had been through a lot; the only reason it had survived thus far was because it had come with a stay-new charm, which had been refreshed several times.  And even now the plush green covering was faded and worn thin in spots; and one of his wings was covered in big white yarn stitches where it had been torn and mended.  But as long as Jenny loved Rosie, he would still keep that bright spark in his eyes; the very thing Jenny loved so.

Jenny turned her head to lay on her other ear, and Harmony was awarded with a glimpse of the lightning-bolt birthmark on the back of her neck.  They had never anticipated that Harry's children would be marked, but they were.  Harmony had researched it, but had found next to nothing on the subject.  The only thing she could think of was that the struggles of Harry's entire life, symbolized in his scar, had been imprinted on his children before their birth.

Brian never really asked about it, although he had commented on several occasions that it was almost too perfect.  Harmony just did her best to keep it hidden; they lived close enough to a mixed magical community that the possibility of Jenny's identity being realized through the mark was very real.  And Harmony would not risk that; not now, when things were starting to heat up again.

"How long have you been home," Brian's whisper startled her, and she jumped, right hand swinging to the back of her head where she kept her wand tucked into her bun.

She stopped herself and blinked a few times, turning to see her husband's smirk.  "Did I scare you?"

"Sshh."  She reprimanded, glancing at Jenny.  "She's actually sleeping peacefully for once."

Brian nodded.  "I know."  His smile was worried as he peered down at her sleeping form.  "I haven't gotten any elbows or knees for a while."

Harmony nodded.  Jenny's arms and legs hurt; especially when she was in the throes of one of her nightmares.  She had gotten several bruises while trying to keep her calm over the past few months.  She reached out to touch the back of her daughter's head.  "How bad was this one?"

"Not too bad," Brian's eyes were dark with concern.  "She felt like playing a little when she came down to get me."

Harmony wished Brian wouldn't divert her focus by joking with her when the dreams happened, but she couldn't have everything.  He didn't understand the true significance of the dreams anyway, so he couldn't know what to do about them.  Harmony wasn't much better, but she had been reading obscure magical medicine books by the dozen in her spare time.  Eventually she would find out what was going on with the girl; and then she might have a clue how to help her.

Brian stood and started to shift his precious daughter back to her bed, but she threw her arms around his neck and clung.  Harmony reached out to pry her hands off, but Jenny wrapped her legs around Brian's waist and refused to let go.  Brian shifted his arms around his daughter and gave Harmony a rueful grin.  "I guess we have an extra tonight."  There wasn't a bit of regret in his gaze as her combed her red locks out of his face.  He thought Jenny was the best thing since sliced bread.

Harmony sighed, noticing that Jenny had let go of Rosie in her efforts to stick to her father.  She picked up the little dragon and followed Brian as he carted Jenny off to their bedroom.  

When they got to their bedroom, Harmony pulled Jenny off of Brian so he could change clothes, settling her daughter's weight across her hips.  Jenny snuggled against her, pushing her sharp little chin into Harmony's neck bones.  "Momma?  That you?"

"Yes sweetheart," Harmony replied softly, pulling the blankets back from their huge double bed.  "I'm sorry I wasn't home for dinner."  She had intended to be home, but then the map had shown something odd and she had been forced to watch it until she was sure what was going on.  And it had been nothing, but she hadn't seen that name on the map in a long time.

"Where's Daddy?"  Jenny murmured, turning her head so she could play with the pendant Harmony wore around her neck on a chain.

"He's in the bathroom; he'll be back in a few minutes."  Harmony eased Jenny down onto the bed, letting her get settled into the blankets before she handed her Rosie.  Sitting down beside her, she began to stroke the brilliant red hair soothingly, waiting for Brian to get done in the bathroom.  "Your Dad said you had another dream," she questioned as mildly as possible, not wanting to get her upset.

Jenny stared up at Harmony sleepily.  "Yeah.  You were chasing a bad man," she whispered, clutching Rosie to her skinny chest.  "He had me 'n Troy," she continued absentmindedly, "and a boy with black hair who's older than me."  She paused, unaware that Harmony had stopped stroking her hair in shock.  "And I was really scared, but then you came.  You 'n Rosie.  And I wasn't scared any more, 'cause the bad man was afraid of you."

Harmony sat very still, forcing herself to breathe.  Was Jenny doing what she thought she was doing?  "Faith," she questioned urgently, "Did you see the bad man?  Do you know what he looks like?"  She had to know before the little girl went back to sleep; she had to know who she might be facing off.

Jenny nodded.  "'Course I did, Momma.  He was carrying Troy.  He had eyes just like Rosie's, when he was a man."  She snuggled back into the pillows, very close to drifting back off to sleep.  

Harmony wanted to grab her and shake her awake, but that was no way to keep her talking; it would only frighten her.  "The man looked like Rosie?"  Harmony had no idea Jenny could remember him; let alone place his face with his gift.

"Yeah, Momma.  He called you a bad name, though, and Rosie got all mad.  You started to cry when the bad man took Troy, and that's when I woke up."  Jenny rolled over and looked up at Harmony with familiar green eyes, wearing an innocent wonder she hadn't seen in them for over a decade.  "Why were you crying?"

Harmony broke her train of thought to look down at the girl.  "I don't know, sweetheart," she dropped a kiss on the girl's forehead as Brian came out of the bedroom and sprawled beside Jenny, his clothes exchanged for pajamas.  "Your Daddy's back now, so why don't you try to go back to sleep."

Jenny nodded and rolled back into Brian, who made himself comfortable around her frame.  He looked up at Harmony and frowned.  "Are you feeling ok, love?"

She glanced down at him, not comprehending what he'd asked her.  "What?"

"You look pale," Brian repeated.  "Are you sure you're feeling ok?"

Harmony shook herself out of her stupor and nodded, shaking her head violently.  "I," she stumbled for a moment, "I've got to go clean the kitchen."

"It can wait until morning," Brian reasoned.  "Why don't you put your nightgown on and come to bed?"  He smirked up at her.  "We can't do much else besides sleep tonight."

Harmony barely registered the fact that he was teasing her about sex; she was still too awed by what Jenny had revealed.  "No," she heard herself saying.  "We can't, can we?  Besides, the kitchen really needs cleaning."  She found herself backing towards the door.  "And I've got some bookwork to catch up on."

Brian looked disappointed, but he nodded, tugging the sheets up to his waist, and pushing Rosie's tail out of his ribs.  "'Night, Harmony."

Harmony shut the door behind her and walked down the hallway, glancing absently at the doorway of the room that lodged her son.  They would all be perfectly safe while she was gone; the house was exceedingly well-protected.  Perhaps not as well protected as Privet Drive had been in the years Harry had lived there, but protected enough to keep Jenny safe.  

After a few seconds Harmony had reached the kitchen, but she spared the dirty counters and table only a passing glance.  There were more pressing matters afoot than a disorderly room; matters involving a little girl who was dead to the rest of the wizarding world and a talent that was pushing panic buttons in her godmother.

When situations turned confusing, there was one place where an answer might possibly be found.  No matter what name she was using, she would never be able to change that facet of her personality.  There was a loud crack of displaced air in the kitchen when the dark-haired woman Apparated, but none of the others in the house even stirred.

Harmony was heading for Los Angeles, which housed AWL, the largest wizarding library on the continent.

There she might be able to find answers for some of her questions.

Much later the next morning, a set of white-tipped feet jogged into the kitchen, large yellowish eyes staring at the figure asleep by the kitchen table.  The half grown kitten jumped to the tabletop, despite the fact that he knew very well that he wasn't allowed on the _kitchen_ table.  The little tail whipped back and forth as it approached the sleeping woman, her head cushioned by the book she had been reading.  He jumped up onto the book and walked over to her face, purring loudly.  A rough pink tongue began to scrape the woman's cheek, and the kitten paused only to butt his head against her chin, trailing his tail under her nose.

He was rewarded when brown eyes opened, and the woman lifted her head off the book.

Harmony pushed a few loose tresses of hair away from her eyes, wincing as she turned her head.  She glanced down at the table, realizing she'd fallen asleep in the middle of her research.  It wouldn't be the first time she'd woken up with ink imprints of the side of her face.

She glanced down at the book, an exhaustive Greek tome dealing with the intricacies of visions.  Divination had never been Hermione's strong suite in school, but for her daughter she would look past that.

As far as she could remember, she had found nothing useful in that book.  The librarian at the American Wizarding Library had been very helpful, especially once he knew Harmony could read Greek & Latin.  She had returned from the library with more books than she had in a long time, and scanning through them was an arduous task.

She closed the book and grabbed the next one on the pile, a tiny book about Native American visions.

"Mmmrow?"

A small kitten sat primly beyond the edge of the books, tail wrapped neatly around his feet.  Harmony glanced up at him, almost laughing at the comical markings on his face.  "What is it, Hindi?"

The kitten meowed again, whipping its tail through a pile of crayons by his feet.  Harmony realized that she still hadn't cleaned the kitchen, and the sun was starting to peek over the kitchen windowsill.  Brian would be up in just a few more minutes, and she didn't want to explain why she hadn't gone up to bed last night.

There was no way she could get the room cleaned in time using the Muggle way.  Her hand automatically closed around her wand, pulling it from the loose bun on the back of her head.  With a few soft-spoken words, the library books had been stacked, shrunk, and banished to sit beside her purse by the back door.

Making sure the kitchen door was shut, she began muttering charms non-stop while almost absently waving her wand around her.  Within minutes the kitchen was filled with the light hum of magic spells scouring, cleaning, organizing, and eliminating the mess that two children, one father, one meal, and one all-nighter could create in her normally pristine kitchen.

Harmony stood in the middle of the kitchen, one hand absently stroking Hindi's spectacular mottled coat while she orchestrated the multiple spells.  In ten minutes the room began to look more like a proper kitchen and less like a war zone.  By the time Brian came downstairs less than five minutes later, the kitchen was finished and Harmony was urging her magically peeled potatoes into a frying pan and shooing Hindi off the table.

"Good morning," he greeted sluggishly.

Harmony's eyes widened, and she glanced down at the wand in her hand, still shooting seasonings over the potatoes.  She made sure her body was between the stove and the coffeepot, which was where she knew her husband would go first.  Flicking her wand hand, she tried to speed up the spell she was in the middle of, before her demi-alert husband noticed the sparks.

Brian shuffled to the sink, and Harmony heard the tell-tale rattling drips begin when he turned it on.  A few seconds later a pair of slender arms wrapped around her waist followed by Brian's head dropping to her shoulder.

"Mornin' Harmony," he repeated, not noticing Harmony's wand, which had, thankfully, quit shooting sparks.

"Good morning," she replied cheerfully, squirming as one of his hands wandered past her hip and down her leg.  Brian's brain didn't gain its characteristic sharpness until after his morning liter of caffeine, but he always had been amorous first thing in the morning.  She rapped the offending hand with her wand, knowing he wouldn't notice that it wasn't a cooking spoon.  "Not now, dear," she chided.

Brian turned his head on her shoulder so he faced her neck, his errant hand tangling itself in her waist-length hair.  "Please?"

Harmony snorted, knowing exactly how he was looking at her as she carefully tucked her wand up one sleeve.  "Those dazzling baby blues may work for your son," she replied tartly, "but you're a big boy now."

Brian spun her around so she faced him, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other at the junction of her neck and shoulders, stroking her hair back over her shoulders.  His ice blue eyes bored into her with an intensity that thrilled her.  "Yes," he agreed smoothly, drawing her closer to him, "I am a _big_ boy now."

Harmony would have melted then and there with the look he was giving her, had she not caught sight of something that disturbed her.

Her husband's dark blonde hair was now neon green.

She bit her lip to keep herself from laughing, but she couldn't keep the mirth from showing in her eyes.

Brian raised an eyebrow.  "Am I that amusing?"

Harmony didn't trust herself to speak.  Jenny must have had another dream to spark her magical abilities, which she took out on the closest thing to her, which happened to be her father.  Luckily he hadn't checked his appearance in a mirror yet, or else she would have had some explaining to do.

She put her hands behind her back and gave Brian her best coy look.  "Amusing?"  She questioned playfully, while she tugged her wand into the flat of her hand, so the tip rested in the middle of her palm.  "Amusing."  He grinned at her, surprised that she was actually responding to his advances for once.  She pressed her body full against his, careful to keep her wand hidden.  One of his hands found it's way to her waist, while the other landed a bit…lower.  "That depends on what your definition of amusing is, darling," she purred.

With her free hand she grabbed the back of his neck, pulled his head down, and kissed him.  

Hard.

Brian's hands tightened as he kissed her back, almost making her loose her concentration.  Before anything else happened, she raised her wand hand, making sure it (and the wand), rested on the back of his head.  Twisting her head slightly, she forced her mind to form the words of the spell.  _Finite Incantem,_ she chanted softly.  _Finite Incantem!  Finite_…_Incantem._  She was rewarded when a quick flash of warmth flooded past her palm.  She opened one eye to make sure Brian's hair was blonde again and dropped the wand back down her sleeve.  Brian's hands tightened again, shredding the last of Harmony's tenuous concentration, and she let herself think of nothing except how much she enjoyed what his hands and lips were doing to her.

They continued in that fashion for several more minutes, each totally focused on the other.  The fry-up on the stove had slipped Harmony's mind, as had Brian's customary dose of coffee.  Neither of them even noticed the little redhead girl who had come wandering in a few minutes ago, and was watching them with wide eyes.

They did, however, eventually have to come up for air.  Harmony leaned against Brian's chest, one arm wrapped around his waist while she gasped for air.  That was when she noticed the five-year-old in the doorway.  She felt Brian tense against her, and knew he'd noticed it too.  While they never tried to hide physically showing affection from their children, they'd never exactly made out in front of them either.

"Good morning, baby," Brian greeted cautiously.

Jenny looked up at them with wide eyes.  "Am I gonna get another little brother?"

Harmony coughed.  "What?"

Jenny shrugged.  "Danielle says when mommies and daddies get all kissy and stuff they make babies."  She walked over to the kitchen table.  "So are you Mom?"

"Am I what?"  Harmony questioned, confused.

Jenny rolled her eyes theatrically.  "Are you going to have another baby?"

Harmony clutched at Brian's undershirt, trying to figure out where her daughter had managed to learn that particular theory.

She glanced up at Brian, who was watching her with a grin.  She glared back up at him, well aware he wasn't going to answer that question; he had started hinting around about another baby a few months ago, and Harmony still hadn't decided about her own feelings on the matter.  _Just you wait,_ she promised that smug little smirk.  _I'll fix you._

Clearing her throat, she shook her head.  "Not right now, Jenny."

The little girl scowled ferociously.

"Maybe soon though," Brian amended, tossing Harmony another triumphant little smirk.

Harmony glared at him.

Jenny nodded, apparently satisfied.  "I want another brother."  And with that statement she strode over to the table, pulling herself into the nearest chair.  "What's for breakfast?"

Brian's chest shook as he held back his laughter, but when he saw the fire in his wife's eyes, he wisely decided to make his escape.  "I'm gonna go get Troy."  Harmony continued to stare at him, until his back disappeared from sight.

"Momma?"  Jenny questioned.

"What is it baby?"  Harmony gathered her long hair up and twisted it into a crude bun, holding it in place with her wand.

"Is breakfast supposed to be smoking like that?"

Harmony whirled toward the stove, where she saw that smoke was rising up from her fry-up in a steady stream while it scorched in the pan.  She slammed her foot into the cold tiles and rushed over to it.  She'd forgotten about breakfast entirely.  This morning was just full of surprises.  "Bloody hell!"

"Momma?"

Harmony glanced over at her daughter sitting in the chair, watching her with a confused gaze.  "Don't ever repeat that, Jenny."

"Ok, Momma."

Harmony grabbed a spatula and tried to stir the fry-up, but it was too late.  Breakfast was ruined, and it was too late to make another.  She turned the burner off with a quick flick and turned around to look at her daughter.  "How about McDonald's?"

Jenny cheered.

"Go and get dressed," Harmony urged.

As she followed her daughter back up the stairs, she met her husband coming out of Troy's room, carrying the still half-asleep little boy in his arms.  "Good morning, handsome," she greeted when Troy reached out for her.

She took him from her husband and settled him on her hip, planting a kiss in the middle of the dark curls.

Brian grinned at her as he disappeared into their bedroom.  "Hey, Harmony?"

"Yes dear?"

He gave her another one of his _looks_.  "Shall we continue our little _discussion _later?"

Harmony would have replied rather naughtily, had there not been a two-year-old within hearing range.  So she settled for glaring at him, and he grinned jauntily at her as he disappeared into their bedroom, the door snapping shut behind him.

Harmony rolled her eyes and looked down at the toddler in her arms.  "Troy, your Daddy can be such a git, do you know that?"

The little boy grinned toothily at her, and she found herself smiling back.  She never could hold onto her anger with her children near.  She was so hopeless.  "Come on," she sighed, "let's get you dressed."

Shifting him to her other hip, she turned back to his room, wondering what other catastrophes she would have to face before the day was over.

* * * * * * * * *

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Adios for now!


	4. Something Unusual

Ok everyone; I haven't dropped off the face of the earth—although you're probably wondering…even though I've disappeared for a while and ventured off into another fandom on a bit of a dare, I haven't forgotten about you!  Real Life has taken priority for quite a while, although you'll be pleased to know that I have the next few chapters completely plotted out.  And in approximately 3—or is it 4 chapters, there is even a quidditch match…the Chudley Canons vs the Salem Creampuffs  (guest appearance by a few favorite characters…)  I've gotten the go-ahead from one of my betas (thank you Unshed Tears!), and when the other one gets back to me, the final version will go up on schnoogle…

Just a quick thanks for all the reviews—the more reviews, the more enthused I am to write….

Disclaimer:  I don't own it.

Author's HP thought of the week:  You know you've read too much Harry Potter when you think Petunia is a perfectly normal woman's name.

History Moves in Circles

Chapter 3:  Something Unusual

Merlin's beard, he was tired.  Mountain Trolls weren't especially smart; considering their brains were perhaps the size of a peanut.  Anyone with the wits of a ten-year old could outthink one; Potter and Weasley had proven that in their first year.  But it took wits and speed to defeat an entire village of the dumb lummoxes, especially when they were enraged.

Today he had been given ample chance to see exactly how quickly he could dodge.

He walked to the mirror of his room in the inn, hoping that he had, for once, gotten a non-magical mirror.

"Come now dear, how long has it been since you've washed your face? Or anything else, for that matter?"

No such luck.

With a warning growl at the mirror, he poured water into the small basin and warmed it with a poke of his wand.  The only sound in the small room was the quiet splashes of water dripping from his washcloth back into the basin while he carefully wiped away a few days worth of grime, sweat, and blood.  Always fastidious in his appearance, he would at least wash his face before he went downstairs for dinner.  Even now he had his own personal standards to maintain.

He flinched as he drew the rag across the rag across his cheek.  Letting it drop to the dresser, he leaned toward the mirror and examined his face, prodding the tender spot with his fingers.  He didn't remember exactly what had happened, but he didn't think he had broken anything although experience told him he'd have the mother of all bruises in a few hours.

Shaking his head, he continued to wash the grime off his face while the mirror decided to speak to him again.  "Oh my," the mirror cooed, "aren't you the handsome one."  He cocked one of his dripping eyebrows.  Mirrors could be very annoying; especially the ones who had been given female personalities.  His childhood mirror, also female, had done nothing but flatter and chatter at him until his father had complained it made him soft.  The sullen mirror that had replaced it had made his life miserable.

He missed his first mirror; aside from his mother, it had been his only balm from his father's demanding ways.

"You know," the mirror continued slyly, "there are several pretty girls without husbands in town."

The man froze, not believing what he had just heard.  Was the _mirror_ propositioning him?  He'd been accustomed to having girls flirt with him; if not for his money, then for his looks.  But a mirror?  This was a first, even for him.

His eyes narrowed threateningly and he turned his attention to his hands, attacking them with a small brush and a bar of soap that smelled like lavender.  Just because he roamed about the land several months of the year didn't mean he had to smell like it.  Even now he longed for the comforts of his flat back in Paris, where he could sink into a bathtub filled to the brim with warm scented water.  He hadn't been home in months, and it didn't look like he would be free to return soon.  At least his housekeeper could be trusted to keep things in order there.

"I'm sure," the mirror offered again, "that one of them could make you very happy."

The troll-slayer stared at the mirror for a moment, wondering why it was behaving so oddly.  "And what happens if I'm married," he questioned in a cool voice.

"You're not married, dear," it replied cheerfully.  "You don't wear a wedding ring."

He shook his head and dried his hands, glancing at his reflection in the mirror.  A pale-haired wraith looked back at him.  His features had never quite lost their sharp lines, although the purple rings of exhaustion gave him a bit of color.  He most definitely wasn't at his best.

Leaving the mirror to ramble on to itself about the virtues of various females, he returned to his bed and exchanged his grubby clothes for the clean spares he kept in his pack.  With one last glance in the now silent mirror, he scraped his long hair back into a ponytail and headed downstairs.

The inn he was staying in was dark and murky, like the Leaky Cauldron.  Comfortable.  He made his way to the highly-polished wooden bar, wincing slightly as he sat down on one of the stools.  He would have bruises on other places besides his face in the morning.

The bartender looked up from where she was polishing a glass.  "Well, well, well, if it isn't Mister Hired Wand."  Her dark eyes glinted teasingly at him; she looked somewhat familiar.

"It takes more than just a wand with Mountain Trolls."  he replied sternly, noticing how the young busboy's stance had perked up.  He'd seen enough hero worship in young boys not to see the signs in an older one.  And until he was sure he'd taken care of all the local nasties, having groupies follow him about was too bloody dangerous.  Best squash this urge now.

The middle-aged woman nodded sagely.  "Aye, like strength, defense spells, and the wits to use them."  She glanced over at a table of men in one corner, her eyes darkening.  "And these blokes haven't been taught to use the three together yet."

She flipped her neat braid over her shoulder, glancing off into the corner of the pub.  "They're mighty lucky you showed up when you did, Mister Mercenary; they've already lost six men, and twelve others were injured."  Six men?  The mayor had said that a party had already been sent out, but he hadn't mentioned that any lives had been lost.  He alone had been able to handle the trolls; how had six men died out there?

"Good men, too," the old man next to him snorted into his beer.  "The town's best."

The bartender shot the old patron a quelling look, then glanced back at him.  "So what's your poison?"  She thunked the glass down on the bar.  "Everything's on the house."  Typical payment for such small towns; free meals as long as he stayed; not that he was ever wanted around for more than a day or two after his stay was over.

"I'll stick with Butterbeer for now," he replied, swinging his stool around to stare out at the crowd.  The Sparkling Diamond was full; it was almost as if the entire town had turned out for celebration.  If he had been in their position he would have done the same.  

He shook his head and took a sip of the butterbeer the bartender had just sat down beside him.  "Thanks."

"You're welcome."  She took up her task of washing glasses again.  He could hear the methodical clinking over the noise of the crowd out on the tiny dance floor.  "You got a name to go with that pretty face, Mister Mercenary?"

"Draco," he replied absently.

She lifted an eyebrow.

"Just Draco," he repeated, taking another sip, then tried to change the direction of the conversation.  "So what's good here?"

Again the man sitting beside him snorted.  Draco looked up at the bartender and rephrased his question.  "What's edible?"

The woman grinned.  "Smart man."

Draco turned his attention to the crowd while he waited for the woman to reappear with his food.  The people in this town; they were hiding something.  When he'd arrived here almost a week ago he'd found the town in shambles, the inhabitants shy of their very shadows; afraid to walk out in the street during broad daylight, and as soon as the sun went down every door, window, shutter, and mouse-hole in town were locked down tighter than Gringott's vaults.

And as soon as the lights went down, the paranoia only increased.  Draco had made the mistake of arriving in town just after sunset, and the first living soul he had seen had been a half grown kitten running in a desperate drive for freedom, followed by a young girl trying to catch it. They'd been accompanied by a gawky teenager armed with a pitchfork, the very same pitchfork he'd nearly gotten through his belly when the boy had spotted him in the shadows.  Once he'd persuaded the boy he wasn't going to hurt anyone and felt confident enough to step into the light, the girl had taken one look at his face, screamed loudly that an elf had come to save them all, and attached herself to his leg, disobedient kitten forgotten.  She clung to him like glue, despite all efforts to peel her off, and by the time the boy had led him to the mayor's house, the entire town had come out to see what the ruckus was about.

And thanks to the little girl's cries, they were all positively certain that he, a plain wizard, was one of the mythical woodland elves.  Draco's comments that he was as human as the next man fell upon deaf ears, and so he found himself in a most unusual position in this town.  The little ones absolutely idolized him (he knew how Potter felt), the adults treated him as an esteemed guest, the old people just liked to stand and stare at him.  The younger adults were what bothered him; the young women flirted as if he was the only man in town, while the young men seemed divided between hero worship and wishing him into his grave with glares.

Draco preferred the death glares; those he could deal with.

As he lounged against the counter, he heard light footsteps come up beside him, and a girl with long, light brown curls inserted herself between his seat and the one next to him, which was occupied by a rather sloshed bearded man.  Draco studiously ignored her as she ordered her drink, taking a calculated sip of his butterbeer.

Drink ordered, she turned around and nonchalantly tossed her hair, the ends of it lightly grazing Draco's arm.  A few seconds later, absently twiddling a strand of her hair between two fingers, she reached directly across him to grab her drink.  "Oh, sorry," she apologized, flashing him a simpering smile, managing to expertly slosh a little of the liquid onto his shirt.

Then, much to Draco's detached amusement, she put on a perfectly contrite face.  "I'm so sorry," she half wailed desperately, producing a delicate lace handkerchief from the recesses of her form-fitting robes to dab at his sleeve.  Draco said nothing as she examined the folds of his white shirt closely, being sure to arrange herself so he would have a clear view of her chest while she worked. 

She was good; but he'd seen better.

After a few seconds he gently pulled his arm away.  "It's fine," he assured calmly.  "It's clear anyway."

A pair of pale green eyes looked up at him, a lone curl flopped against her brow.  "Are you sure, m'lord?"  She shook her head.  "I'm so sorry; I should have been more careful.  I'll be more than happy to clean it for you."

"It's fine," Draco repeated stubbornly, trying to ignore the title.  "No harm done."

The perfectly painted mouth pouted for a moment, then the girl threw off his refusal.  "If you change your mind, m'lord, come and see me."  She offered him what passed for what might have been a semi-sexy smile, had it not been so forced.  "My name's Novelle," she continued slyly.  "I'm the chief astronomer here, although," she fluttered her eyelashes, "I have been known to take up divination in my spare time."  She looked at him for so long that Draco was sure she had mentally undressed him at least three times before she took her glass and rejoined her friends, hips swaying gently as she walked away.

A part of Draco's mind admitted that the view from behind was as nice as the girl's face, but she was a divinator, and Draco had yet to meet a divinator that had more brains than a bird.  Although, he admitted to himself as the malt-colored hair gleamed in the dull lights of the tavern, she was rather fetching.  He shook his head firmly and reminded himself this was a business trip, not a pleasure cruise, and a casual shag with the local astronomer would not be profitable for his relations to the townspeople, despite their openness.  He had no desire to be driven out of town at the end of a pitchfork.

Luckily, his ruminations about the eligibility of a certain astronomer and divinator were cut short when the bartender returned with a platter of food fit for a being of Hagrid's size.  Draco stared down at the unappetizing glob in front of him, not certain he wanted to know what it was.  Prodding it gingerly with a fork, he ascertained it wasn't still alive; granted, he'd eaten a lot of unsavory things during his days as one of Voldemort's henchmen, but at least most of it had been recognizable as food.

"You'd best eat it while it's hot," the woman urged as she refilled his butterbeer.  "Once it cools, it's not nearly as palatable."

With a slight hesitation, Malfoy shoved the laden fork into his mouth and hoped he wouldn't meet his death by food poisoning.  Much to his surprise, the brown glop wasn't nearly as revolting to the taste as it was to the eyes.  He chewed carefully, trying to decide exactly what flavors he could discern.  Some sort of local meat, obviously—venison, perhaps—in some sort of gravy, cooked 'till it was mush.  Not too bad; he'd had worse.

He continued to eat his monstrous dinner, well aware of the slight giggles wafting over from the gaggle of girls not too far away from him.  Several of them seemed to have copied Novelle's tactics, and made sure to stand directly beside him as they ordered their own drinks.  The latest had trembled so hard that she hadn't been able to wait long enough to retrieve her order.  She couldn't have been more than 16, perhaps 17 at the most, and had given him such a terrified glance that he knew she had been literally forced to stand next to him.

Draco continued to eat his dinner, wondering which of the town's girls would be next to come and order their drinks while trying to catch his eye.  A few locks of curly malt-colored hair drifted past the corner of his eye.  Novelle; no other in the tavern had such distinctive hair.  "Sorry, m'lord," she oozed sweetness as she reached for the unclaimed butterbeer with a pale arm, "but Josie forgot her drink and she's too flustered to fetch it herself."

He lifted one of his eyebrows and nodded curtly, pointedly taking another bite of his meal to avoid answering her.

She flashed him another white-toothed smile and winked, before turning to rejoin her friends.  As she walked behind him, her hand trailed along the back of his shoulders, rubbing circles on the back of his neck.

Draco froze, not daring to turn his head until the rush of giggles signaled her arrival back into the small mob of his bright-eyed admirers.  He summoned his courage and swiveled his stool to look behind him.  One look at the sea of admirers standing there, wide-eyed faces looking at him in awe, without even the slightest bit of disgust or scorn sent his courage rushing back under the rock he'd hidden it under.

Draco Malfoy was not a man to run away from what he was afraid of, but a dozen girls sporting that particular expression would have make even a reckless Gryffindor turn tail and run.  In true Slytherin fashion, he decided it was time to make a strategic retreat to the loo.

Thankfully, the men's room was empty, so Draco wasted no time in making his frustrations known with a few choice words that would have his mother furious.  Done swearing, he turned the cold water on and splashed his face with water, absently noting the muffled sounds that were coming from somewhere.  He had turned the water off when they expanded into the sound of women's giggles.  

Merlin's beard, they hadn't followed him into the loo, had they?

Draco wondered if he could manage an invisibility spell long enough to make it back to his room.

Then he quickly realized that he was just hearing their voice's carry over from the women's loo, which was next door.

"Ohh—he's so handsome," a particularly excited girl squealed.

"Of course he's handsome; he's an elf!"  Another voice joined in.

Draco groaned.  Yes, he was blonde, and yes, he favored leather trousers, but could they not see that he had perfectly normal ears?  They weren't pointed in the slightest!  Of course, there had been that one incident with the Weasley twins his fifth year—but that had been years ago, and he had all the photographs destroyed.  Well, there were rumors that McGonagall had taken one; but she'd denied it, and he hadn't found it when he searched her office, despite the detention it cost him when she caught him.

"Oh, here you are—how's it going?"

"He's in the restroom.  Did you get the stuff?"  That was Novelle; there was no mistaking the smoky voice; she most certainly had mystical appearance going for her.

"Yes—muggles use it…" a loud clatter, and a muffled curse, "here.  Cover Girl, Maybelline, and my sister has a bottle of perfume—what's it called Josie?"

"Nature."

"Oh, how original."

"Whoever said Muggles were imaginative?"  An older voice snorted.  "C'mon, Novelle, let's get you dolled up for our gorgeous elf."

Draco frowned—what was going on over there?  On second thought, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"What's going on in here?"  It was the bartender; Draco wondered what her name was as he stood next to the vent.  "Oh, come on now—leave Draco alone.  He's not for the likes of you."

"His name is Draco?"

A chorus of sighs echoed through the vent.  "How'd you learn that?"

"I asked him," the bartender's voice carried clearly through the vent.  "And what's this about an elf?"

"Oh come on; he's got to be an elf.  With that hair, and those clothes…."

"And Tom said he handled those trolls like they were nothing!  Elves have a natural skill for fighting darkness—it's in the textbooks!"

The woman snorted.  "Come on girls, use the brains I know you've got.  Anyone with a good Defense education under their belt can handle a troll; and I know for a fact that Malfoy knows his Defense spells.  The man went to Hogwarts, for Merlin's sake.  He's no elf."

Draco froze—he hadn't told the woman his last name.  He hadn't used his last name now for several months.  When traveling through these little wizarding villages scattered across the countryside, using the name of a well-know Dark-affiliated family was like painting a target on the back of his coat.  So for several months out of the year, he was just Draco.  Draco Johnson if pressed, but never Draco Malfoy.  How did she know who he was?

"Magdalen MacDougal, you just want him for yourself—he's too young for you!"

Magdalen MacDougal?  The name sounded remotely familiar.  Draco frowned, trying to remember where he'd heard it before.

"It's your funeral girls; trust me—that man has friends in high places," the bartender spat, and then he heard the door slam shut.

"Don't listen to her Novelle; all you have to worry about is making sure our young elf-lord has no desire to leave town in the morning," the older woman soothed.  "We _need_ someone like him to protect us."

"I know Aunt Tina," Novelle replied.  "He can help us."  There was a long silence.  "Mom was saving this until I got married, but she let me have it now."

"What is it?"  Draco frowned, feeling his stomach lurch.  This was not sounding good.

"Fairy dust—it will keep him bound to me, elf or not.  And Mom's almost finished brewing the potion; it'll be done by the time the dust wears off."

Draco grit his teeth, wondering exactly what they were planning over there; and how he could possibly get away without being noticed.  He really wished he had memorized that invisibility charm.

"Then he'll be here for good; and completely under your control."

This was bad; _very_ bad.  

Draco buttoned his sleeves, seriously considering making a run for it.  He opened the loo door a bit, peering down the hall and into the tavern's main room, where the only door was.  It was filled with people.  They'd stop him before he could escape.

He pulled his wand from its holster and held it ready; he didn't know exactly what these people wanted with him, but they weren't going to get him without a fight.  He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped out of the loo, prepared to hex his way to the door, although he'd probably never make it out of town.

But before he could take another step towards his doom, a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a side door.  "Quiet," the bartender's voice ordered as she drug him into the closet.

"_Lumos!"_ Draco held his wand aloft, to see the woman locking the closet door with a strong charm.  "What are you doing in here?"

"I might ask you the same, Mister Malfoy," she hissed.

He stared at her, eyes demanding an answer.

She glared at him.  "Magdalen MacDougal, Hogwarts class of '90.  I had a sister in your year, Morag.  A Ravenclaw; and very taken with you, although you may not remember her."  She pointed her wand at his chest.  "They said came over to Dumbledore's side; that Hermione Granger herself vouched for you; but Slytherins always were a sly bunch.  You could be double-crossing them.  Now tell me what you're doing here, or I'll scream that you're a Death Eater for everyone to hear."

With her wand pressed point blank against his chest, Draco had no other choice.  The MacDougal's were a family of Unspeakables; the children always top of the class in dueling.  This woman could curse him faster than he could raise a shield.  He raised his arms in submission and let his wand clatter to the floor.

MacDougal, her face serious, gave him a hard smile.  "You made the smart choice, Mr. Malfoy.  Now talk."

This was going to be a long night.

***********

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	5. Magic in Unusual Places

A/N:  I know it's been forever, and I'm sorry!  I promise the next chapter should come in a week or so—it's completely done, all I have to do is a little editing.  Anyway, I have an update list for my HP fics, which is at:

http://www.groups.yahoo.com/group/auberfics/

Disclaimer:  I don't own Harry Potter.  The universe belongs to JKR, WB, and various publishers.  I'm just having fun.

History Moves in Circles

Chapter 4:  Magic in Unusual Places

She was running late; her employees were waiting for her on the sidewalk by the time she finally made it to work, Peter's dark head bobbing about energetically as he talked to Kara, who was listening with only half an ear as she thumbed through the pages of a magazine.

They both looked up as Harmony came around the corner, Hindi curled up in her handbag.

"Ah," Peter grinned good-naturedly, "Sleeping Beauty hath awakened."

"Honestly," she retorted, digging her keys out of her pocket so she could unlock the door, "the one day I get here a few minutes late, you're actually early!  Of course, Kara's always here on time."

The stately woman who looked like she belonged in an art gallery instead of Harmony's bookstore smiled and slid her magazine into her purse.  "Don't mind Peter," she told Harmony, "He's never had kids."

"Not for a few more years, thank you," Peter replied, pulling the door open for them.  "I like being a bachelor."

Harmony winked at Kara, "That's what Brian used to say," she muttered under her breath, not above teasing the lively wizard, "and now look at him."  

Peter grinned and gave her a cheeky retort.  Before Harmony could say anything, Peter had retreated to the small upper story of the bookstore, where the welcoming hoots of the owls met him.  She shook her head.  "I don't know what I'm going to do with him."

"Peter?"  Kara questioned as she pulled up the blinds.  "He just has a lot of energy.  Far too much for this early in the morning, anyway."  She turned to look at the younger woman.  "Or are you talking about Brian?"

Harmony let Hindi out of her purse and began to turn on the lights.  "I can always fire Peter," she called up the stairs, and received another witty retort in reply.

Kara sat down behind the front counter and rested her arms on it, giving the younger witch her whole attention.  "What's wrong with Brian?"

Harmony moved a pile of books off of one of the chairs and sat down, knowing Kara would pry it all out of her before she was did anything else.  "It's not exactly Brian, Kara.  It's just the fact that he's a Muggle.  Jenny's magic is starting to manifest itself.  Almost daily now."

Kara's blonde eyebrows lifted in surprise.  "And she's five?"

Harmony nodded.  "Yes—she promises to be a strong witch.  Right now, all she's doing is dreaming and doing little stuff like turning Brian's hair green, but I can't watch her twenty-four hours a day.  She's going to do something one day that Brian can't miss, and I'm not going to be around to fix it before he does."  She absently ran fingers across the stone pendant she wore at her throat, checking once more to assure herself that it was still cool.

Kara sighed.  "Harmony, you've taken every precaution that anyone could ever think of.  Jenny and Troy are monitored with charms, you've practically magic-proofed their bedrooms; and your house has nothing magical in it!  What can Jenny do?"

"She turned her father's hair green this morning," Harmony murmured.  "If he didn't need so much coffee to wake him, I never would have noticed."

"Practical joke," Peter suggested, coming down the stairs with the morning owl-post tucked under one arm.  "You dyed it green in his sleep."

She shot him an exasperated glance.  The man was too energetic in the morning—even for her.  Once she woke up, he was great—but entirely too enthusiastic before noon.  "That's no prank," she protested, remembering the time she'd had blue hair for an entire summer holiday, thanks to Fred & George.  "That's humiliation!  If I pulled some sort of prank on Brian I'd put decaf in his Folgers can."

Peter froze, his brown eyes widening in horror.  "And you don't think that's evil?"

Harmony lifted an eyebrow.  "Switching coffee grounds doesn't fall into my standard of evil, Peter," she returned calmly.  Evil for those who had lived through Voldemort was something entirely different than the American wizarding society thought it was.  Luckily, her alibi in this section of the wizarding world was sound enough.  She was a muggle-born English witch who had fled the country during the darkest days of the war.  As long as she was careful, she could reference living through the war without blowing her old identity—the unremarkable charm took care of the rest.  Unless she directly told someone she had been Hermione Granger, they would never be able to connect her face with her name, even if she was standing next to her own picture.  Peter, her local avid Dark War historian, had yet to make the connection in the four years she'd known him, despite all of the books and pictures he'd studied with her in them.

At times like today, she was very tempted to pull him aside and tell him who she really was, just so _someone_ would know—that there would be a place she didn't have to hide anymore.  But that was impossible.  To tell the truth would put Jenny in danger, and Harmony couldn't do that.  She'd made a promise to a dying friend, and intended to keep it until she no longer had breath in her body to do so.  So she firmed up and made herself believe that Hermione no longer existed.  She was Harmony now.

Peter's face was filled with apprehension.  "I'm sorry Harmony—I forgot that you were…" he trailed off uncertainly.

"It's all right Peter," she reassured him gently.  "Those days were a long time ago," but, she admitted to herself, they still stung like freshly inflicted wounds.

Kara coughed politely.  "Why don't you just tell Brian you're a witch and get it over with?"

The younger witch sighed.  "It's not that easy.  I've always been very careful to keep from using any magic around him—he hasn't the slightest clue that I'm anything more than a common Muggle.  We've been together for seven years and he hasn't seen so much as a robe!  I just can't sit him down one day and tell him I'm a witch, and have been for the past 17 years."  

She paused and swallowed slightly, remembering the one time she had tried to tell him—but had never gotten around to it.  The day she'd brought Jenny home, she had intended to tell him, but he hadn't reacted well and she didn't want to press things.  "He's not going to like it all—after all, we've been perfectly happy this long.  If I can just keep Jenny's outbursts under control then he never has to know."

Kara was watching her with a slightly amused expression, and Peter with a slightly resigned one.  The dark-haired man stepped forward and handed her the morning's copy of the _Salem Review_.  She went to open it, but he lightly touched her wrist.  "Tell him now, Harmony," he pleaded softly, his dark eyes glittering with suppressed emotion.  "The longer you wait will only make things worse.  My father waited for years before he told my Mom…and she didn't take it well at all."

Harmony stared at him, surprised at his seriousness so early in the morning.  "Mom…Mom was xenophobic.  She just couldn't accept that magic existed, so she packed up and left."  His voice roughened for a moment, and she was struck hard with the urge to hug him.

"I'm sorry," Harmony settled for squeezing his hand.  "But I'm afraid Brian will be the same way."

Kara shook her head, coming over to lay one of her perfectly-shaped hands on Peter's shoulder in comfort.  "Brian loves you, Harmony.  He'll adjust.  Love will be enough."

The young witch shut her eyes tightly.  Love wasn't always enough.  It hadn't been enough all of those years ago; it hadn't kept her with the first boy she'd truly loved.  It hadn't stopped her from losing two of her best friends, either.

She couldn't risk losing Brian; she wouldn't survive losing another man she loved.

She lifted her dark eyes to smile comfortingly at Peter.  "I suppose I could try," she agreed finally, her resistance sanded away.  "But I don't know if he would believe me."

Peter and Kara exchanged glances.  "Don't worry about it," Kara began.  "If he doesn't believe just bring him down here."

"We'll be more than happy to back up your story," Peter agreed.  "After all, he's going to have to see what the wizarding world is like eventually.  Why not start with someplace halfway normal?"

"Oh—and I suppose a cage full of the _Monster Book of Monsters_ is normal?"  Kara asked archly.

Peter shrugged.  "At least it's not those Transfiguration books.  You know, the ones that did everything by example?"

Harmony snorted, rising from her chair.  "We spent four days catching all of those dormice.  I sent them back to the manufacturer that way and they still refused to give me a refund."  She pulled her hair over her shoulder and sighed.  "Speaking of books, all of the little ones are in session now, so it's just the college kids coming in.  Who wants to work where?"

"I'll stay upstairs today," Kara volunteered.  "Some of the stuff up here needs rearranging, like the front window display."

"There's really nothing on the second floor that needs done," Peter informed.  The second floor of _Hidden Treasures Books_ was filled with rare and unusual books, as well as Harmony's collection of Muggle occult books and some ancient books from the history of the area that Peter was painstakingly restoring.  In a town like Salem such things were to be expected, although Brian had looked at her a little oddly when he'd seen how many occult books the store had.

Of course, he had never been down in the basement, which was where the real bookstore was.  Not long after Harmony had returned to the States with Jenny, she had persuaded Brian to move to Salem, where she had purchased a small building that had seen better days and turned it into a bookstore.  The true reason she had bought the building was because its spacious basement opened out onto the American equivalent of Diagon Alley, Copper Lane.

The basement was where the true business went on, but Brian had no idea how much of a profit Harmony made off of it now.  Every spare galleon she could find had been poured into the ramshackle little bookstore on Copper Lane, and now it was the leading book broker in this area of the wizarding world, especially for the students of the nearby Salem Witch's Institute and the magical primary school.  She would never be a fabulously wealthy witch, but she could live quite comfortably.

The Muggle half of her business managed to break even every year, and lately she had been pondering perhaps making it into a tiny little coffee shop.  Peter could still continue the research he needed for his Doctorate upstairs, but she would no longer have to worry about making the Muggle bookstore succeed then, or finding reliable employees that could work in both worlds.

Harmony nodded at them.  "All right," she began, "Peter and I will work downstairs today, and we'll just close the second floor off."

After the plan had been agreed upon everyone made their way to their stations for the day, Harmony and Peter stepping through the door marked "Private" at the back of the store to get to the basement, where work began.

There were only the two of them in the basement; although Harmony had put an advertisement in the _Salem Review_ a few weeks ago, she had yet to find another suitable employee.  Peter and Kara were both very Muggle-oriented and could work in any section of the store, but if she could add a few employees to the basement things would be much easier on all of them and Harmony could go back to writing her book, which she hadn't touched in at least a year.

Their day was filled with leading students to the correct book piles and tallying galleon totals and the like.  Even with all of the younger kids already in school, there were enough University and Institute students to keep them on their feet all day long.  When closing time finally came around Harmony locked the door from behind the circular counter with her wand and collapsed into the closest chair.  Peter clambered up onto the polished counter, resting his head on a copy of _Terrific Tunes for Terrible Trees_ and propped his feet up against the antique cash register.

They rested together, two weary warriors trying to recover from a gruesome battle.  This silent comraderie was broken a few minutes later when Kara came walking down the stairs, looking every bit as composed as she had that morning.  "Goodness," she exclaimed at the sight of Peter sprawled out on the counter and the disorganization of the store in general.  "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"Ugh," was Peter's only response.

Harmony roused herself from her dazed examination of the rug on the floor to acknowledge Kara's presence.  "I think every student in the Institute has been through here today."

"Ah," Kara nodded wisely, stepping through a collapsed pile of shopping baskets to come behind the counter.  "I figured as much from some of the characters we had upstairs."  She cocked her head.  "Do you want some help cleaning up down here?"

"Please," Harmony murmured, scrubbing at her face with one hand.  "My head feels like it's had an unfortunate meeting with a mountain troll's club."

"That sounds like it would hurt," Peter replied, making himself more comfortable on the book.  "At least there aren't any trolls within a hundred miles of here."

The English witch groaned.  "You're very fortunate.  Trolls are ugly, slimy, and their breath smells like sewage."

Peter chuckled.  "Sounds like the voice of experience speaking."

His employer sat up abruptly, summoning a vial of pain-relieving potion to her, which she promptly downed half the contents of.  "You have no idea," she replied, defiantly shoving herself to her feet and staring at the mess around her as the potion brought liquid bliss to her aching head and legs.  With her headache fading away her strength was returning, and she turned her wand upon the store, casting the various charms and muttering the incantations that brought order to the chaos of the store after a hectic day.

She zapped Peter with a quick jet of blue sparks, forcing him to vacate his position on the counter.  He gave her a token promise of rebuttal before starting to clean off the circular counter, and Kara began pulling the blinds and locking the doors.  Working together, the three of them managed to pull the bookstore together for another hectic day in surprisingly little time, and suddenly found themselves in position to part for the day.  With cheerful goodbyes her employees departed, Kara to her traditional family home and Peter to his bachelor's pad a few streets away from Copper Lane.

Harmony, however, had no intentions of going home.  She still had another good hour's worth of work in front of her, but it was work that had nothing to do with the bookstore.  This work was far more important, and much less legal.  If any of the Department bigwigs knew about the stuff she had up in her office she could be arrested and sent to Azkaban.

She slowly climbed up to the second floor of the building, bypassing the still dozing owls and Peter's work area to unlock her office door.  This was where she kept her past locked away; nowhere near her family.  This was where she kept her old family.  The one that she had abandoned all those years ago—and the one that had just as willingly pushed her away.

Various magical trinkets were piled on shelves, stuffed into cabinets, and lined up on the windowsills.  She'd never gotten around to organizing any of her mess, not like she would have done before she'd moved to the States.  She knew where things were—that was enough.

The English witch moved to her desk, not sparing a glance at the framed diplomas hanging on the wall.  She wasn't that person anymore.  Pushing a stack of news scrolls off her desk revealed a beautiful drawing of two dragons, one bronze and the other gold, caught in mid flight across the parchment.  A quick tap of her wand against the protective glass sent the lines on the picture writhing, and she watched dispassionately as the dragons twisted and morphed into something else entirely—a set of lines that faintly resembled a blueprint and a multitude of tiny moving dots.  Harmony gave it a quick glance then tapped the glass again, unrolling one of the many scrolls on her desk to skim as the picture rearranged itself.

There was nothing new there either.

The process continued for a good half an hour, the witch methodically checking the areas that the trails were leading to.  The head of her Order knew something was going on, but he didn't know what yet—he'd put all of his field agents on alert.  Despite the fact that she was dead to most of the wizarding world, Harmony hadn't been able to let go some of her habits.  Ritually checking for known Dark Wizards or their agents was one of them.  And when Neville sent her a message asking her to keep a look out, she took it seriously.

Once the map revealed nothing out of the ordinary in her vicinity she continued to scan through the newspapers, ignoring the fact that it was now well past the time she was supposed to be home.  She had just put the last paper down when a small furry body began to wind its way around her ankles.

"Hindi," she murmured, picking the kitten up.

"Mrrrow," her familiar replied, butting her chin into Harmony's hand, who obediently scratched behind an ear.  "Mrrrrrow!"

The witch sighed, glancing at the window, and let out a few soft curses.  "I lost track of time again," she gasped, hurriedly arranging the papers on her desk, knocking over a very old picture that she didn't bother to pick up.  Looking at their faces even now hurt.  

Hindi jumped from her lap and ran out of the office door in front of her, waiting while she locked the doors and set the alarm charms.  Tucking the striped cat under one arm, she headed for her family-sized SUV and peeled out for home, ignoring the plaintive cries of one dizzy cat.

Her house was being bathed in the brilliant oranges of sunset when she reached it, and she heard Jenny's happy chatter in the kitchen when she let herself in while a very frazzled cat making a beeline for Brian's empty recliner.  Harmony moved down to the kitchen, twisting her hair back into its usual bun, tucking her wand into it securely just as she stepped into the lights of the kitchen.

"Momma!"  Jenny shouted, waving.  "Hi!"

Beside her, settled safely into a booster seat, her two-year old grinned at her.  "Hi," his voice was soft and furry.

She smiled and waved at them.  "Hi.  I see I made home in time for dinner."

Brian stood at the stove, a plate of spaghetti in each hand.  He grinned a greeting at her, depositing a plate before each child at the kitchen table.  "Hi, hon. You timed that just about right."

Harmony dumped her purse onto the floor and slid over to the stove to fill her own plate.  "I'm sorry I couldn't help out tonight but."

"Hey," he stopped her with a light kiss, the kids too involved in their food to notice.  "You're busy—and you cook dinner most of the time.  I can handle night duty for a few days until the rush settles down."  He turned and started doling spaghetti onto his plate.  "Although if it lasts too much longer, the kids are going to get tired of spaghetti."

"You could always learn to cook something else," she replied, grinning at him, sticking her fork into the pan with sauce, then waving it in front of his nose.  "Meatball?"

"Don't mind if I do," he replied, taking the proffered food off the fork.

She snapped his nose with the utensil in her hand in mock indignation.  "That was mine!  Get your own!"

Brian winked at her and turned to ladle sauce onto his own plate of noodles, while Harmony made her way to the table to sit down.  She had lifted the first forkful to her mouth when Jenny spoke up, chattering all about her day, Troy throwing in a few affirmative noises between bites.  Dinner passed quickly, despite the fact that Harmony had come in late without letting Brian know.  He thought she was working on reorganizing the store—she hated having to lie to him.

Once plates had been clear, the two adults found themselves facing the biggest quandary of every evening, which consisted of clean up duty.  Who was going to take the kids, and who was going to battle the kitchen.  Harmony took one look at the smiling tomato-sauce covered kids and decided she'd take kitchen duty again.  As much as she loved her children, there were some things that magic was most definitely more useful for.  She'd be too tempted to just forgo the whole bath process and hit them with a cleanliness charm to make things easier.

So while Brian hauled them upstairs and put them in the bathtub, Harmony quietly did the dishes with a little help from a few judicious pokes of her wand, and was wiping spaghetti sauce off the table with a dishrag.  She could hear voices and splashing from upstairs; Brian must have left the door open again.

A red-haired five-year-old appeared at her hip, wrapped securely in a big pink bath towel, wet hair dripping water on the floor.  "Hi Momma," she chirped.

Harmony left her rag on the table and turned to her daughter, squatting to be more on her level.  "Didn't your Dad dry you off," she demanded, grabbing the towel and scrubbing the wet hair.

Jenny stood still, knowing from experience it would be futile to try to resist her mother at this point.  "He tried," she murmured, voice muted beneath the towel.  "But Troy tried to climb out of the tub and he told me to come see you."

Her mother sighed and continued to rub her dry, listening to Brian try to deal with their son upstairs.  She couldn't hear much—but the splashing and random loud thumps were not a good sign.  Troy, like any two-year-old, wasn't fond of bodies of water larger than a glass unless it was a mud puddle or a swimming pool.  Getting him clean was always a battle and a half.

She was wrapping the towel back around her much drier daughter, intending to carry her upstairs, when it happened.  If she had been paying attention, she would have noticed that Jenny's eyes flickered to her throat at least a full second before it started, but Harmony had long since ceased being that observant in her own home.  The pendant at her throat suddenly turned ice cold and began to vibrate against her throat, just like she'd charmed it to do.

Someone was doing magic.  More specifically, someone in her family was doing magic.

"Momma," Jenny murmured, staring at the pendant, eyes wide.  "What's that doing?"

Harmony closed her hand around it, staring down at the little girl.  Jenny was right here, and nothing was happening, so it couldn't have been her.  That left one person who could have possibly made her necklace glow.

Troy.

Harmony was already on her way upstairs when a shout from Brian echoed down the corridor.  "What the…" he shouted, and massive scrambling followed.

The witch doubled her pace and reached the open bathroom door, not sure of what she was going to find.  What she did find, if the situation hadn't been so critical, would have been very funny.

Her husband stood on the toilet, completely soaked, as was most of the tiled floor and matching blue walls.  He had Troy clutched to his chest, the little boy dripping wet, and still soapy from the looks of things, peering down into the bathtub in slightly horrified fascination.  As nothing seemed to be on fire or in danger of blowing up, she lowered her hand from where it was poised above the wand in her hair.  "Brian?"  She questioned.  "What's going on?"

Troy giggled at her and pushed both of his hands towards the tub.  "Ducky."

Brian hefted him a bit farther away from the tub and gave her a wide-eyed look.  He was dumbstruck—Harmony had seen that particular look many times back in the medical camps during the wars.  "Brian," she repeated firmly, drawing his attention to her, "what's going on?"

He blinked at a sense of normalcy returned to his eyes, making her sigh in relief, and pointed at the bathtub, apparently unable to find words. 

Jenny pushed her way past Harmony and wandered over to the bathtub, curious to see what was going on.  "Oh cool," she exclaimed, and leaned over into the tub.

"Jenny," Brian hissed, "Don't!"

His daughter didn't listen, and shoved her hands into the water to grab something.  Harmony heard a rustle of what sounded like wings, and much to her surprise, a _quack_.  Jenny, apparently having trouble, climbed back into the tub, and after a few moments of splashing, Jenny grinned.  "I got it!"

There, in her outstretched hands, was the rubber duck that Troy couldn't take his bath without.  She had both her hands clamped around its wings, but the duck itself was still made of rubber.  It was just animated.  As Harmony looked down at it, the rubber head cocked and it stared back at her with painted-on eyes.  _Quack._

Up on the toilet, Brian inched backwards.

Harmony glanced at the duck, then up at her son, who was watching it happily.  A smile twisted the corners of her mouth, and only years of practice kept her laughter from bubbling up.  She apparently didn't have to worry if her half-breed son was a squib now—she had her answer.

And a lot of explaining to do.

She smiled reassuringly at Brian, watching out of the corner of her eye as Hindi sat down at her feet and regarded the now mobile duck.  "It's okay, Brian," she pulled on her best bedside manners.  "It's not going to hurt you.  It's just a duck."

Brian looked at her like she had grown horns, and Harmony supposed that in his view, she might have.  She wasn't even remotely surprised by the duck that was now wriggling in their daughter's hands.  "Really," she soothed.  "I can explain."

Troy reached towards Jenny and his favorite toy.  "Ducky."

Her husband shook his wet blonde head.  "It just…happened.  Troy wouldn't hold still, so I put the duck on the edge of the tub.  He got upset, and the next thing I know there was water everywhere, the duck," he eyed the toy in Jenny's hands.  "It moves.  And I _know_ it didn't do that before."

Of course it didn't.  It was a rubber duck.  Their son had just put an animation charm on it.

"How can you explain that," Brian demanded.

"Very easily," she returned, "but it's a long explanation, and one you're probably not going to believe at first."  She smiled at him, hoping this would all work out.  "Why don't you go to our room and put some dry clothes on, and I'll finish up with Troy and get the kids to bed.  And then I'll explain to you exactly what happened to Troy's toy."

Brian regarded her with slightly suspicious eyes, but he trusted her.  Even after she'd left him for a year, he was willing to give her that much leeway.  He stepped off the toilet and handed her Troy, who was still happily watching the toy in Jenny's hands.  "I'll be downstairs," he murmured, walking past her.  "Probably with the bottle of brandy."

Harmony watched him go, then turned to her children, who were both fascinated with the duck, and completely unbothered by the fact that it could move.  She deposited Troy back in the bathtub and deftly transferred the toy into the water, handing Jenny a fresh towel.  "Dry off and nightgown," she ordered.

"But Momma!"

"No buts, Jenny.  I have to explain to your Dad tonight.  I'll explain to you tomorrow."  

Jenny knew better than to question her mother when she used that particular tone of voice and took the towel without comment, casting a last longing glance at the duck, which was now happily swimming through the water, playfully pecking at Troy's toes.  "You promise?"

"I promise," the dark-haired woman returned, "Now get moving.  The sooner you go to sleep the sooner morning will come."

Jenny pounded down the hall towards her room, and Harmony turned her attention down to her son.  She smiled at him and ran her hands through his soapy hair, and watched as he played with his creation.  "You are going to be quite the Charms student, aren't you?"

Troy grinned, showing her his white teeth.  "Come on," she sighed, wiping a loose strand of hair out of her face as she knelt on the wet floor.  "Let's get you cleaned up so I can go explain to your Daddy."

With the duck to amuse him, it took her very little time to get the soap rinsed off of him and carried to bed.  In no time at all she found herself standing at the foot of the stairs, duck in hand, watching Brian drain a glass of brandy while Hindi sat in the chair opposite him.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and strode into the room.  It was now or never.

Brian looked up as she walked in, pouring himself another glass of the amber liquid.  "You want some?"

"No thanks," she returned, settling herself in the chair across from him to watch him carefully.  Hindi prowled over to her and began sniffing the duck, which quacked at her in protest.  "Hindi," she chided, "leave the duck alone."

"Mrrow."  The kitten gave her an insolent glare but laid down and waited for the fireworks to come.

Brian glanced up at her, blue eyes slightly haunted.  He gestured vaguely towards the duck that she'd placed on the coffee table.  "How do you explain that?  Ducks just don't magically come alive."

Harmony couldn't hide the sardonic smile that sprang to her lips.  "Actually," she began softly, "they can."

Her husband glanced up, and she was glad to see the sharpness in his eyes.  Good, the shock was gone; she wouldn't have to explain this all to someone who _couldn't _hear what she was trying to explain to him.  "Brian," she admitted ruefully, "it's about time I told you why I disappeared all those years ago."

He lifted his head and settled back into his chair, hands folded across his lap in a manner he used to indicate he was ready.  "I'm listening."

"Well," she breathed, "I suppose I ought to start at the beginning.  I come from a very ordinary family—my parents are dentists, but I was never quite…normal."  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, summoning the courage that she'd developed over her years as a Gryffindor before she uttered the words that would change her husband's life forever.  "I'm a witch."

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Please Review!


	6. Weasley Holidays

A/N:  Sorry it took so long folks, but it's done now.  Enjoy!  Also, I run an update list for this fic.  See my profile for details.

Disclaimer:  I don't own Harry Potter or his universe, I'm just playing with the toys.  Original characters, however, do belong to me, but I don't mind sharing if I'm asked.

History Moves in Circles

Chapter 5:  Weasley Holidays

Ron huffed quietly into his hands in the cool afternoon air as he retreated through the back door.  It had been raining all morning and the chill hadn't lifted from the air at all, despite it being the first of September.  He'd found a worn trench coat in one of the back closets to throw over his Muggle dress clothes and transfigured an old sweater into something more appropriate for the little boy at his heels, who happened to be none other than his nephew, ward, and godson.

James Matthew Potter, all of eight years old, happened to be the wizarding world's most favorite child, and Ron was inclined to agree with them.  Not that he was biased or anything.  If anyone had ever wondered what his father, the late great Harry Potter, had looked like all they had to do was look at Matt.  There were some differences of course; Matt had Bill's nose and his mother's toffee-colored eyes, but the rest of his face and the mop of untamable black hair were the legacy of his father.

It pained Ron to know that Matt barely remembered him.

He couldn't expect anything else, really; Matt had been barely three when his father died, and most of those three years had been spent in seclusion with his two older cousins in Egypt.  Ron had been the only father he'd ever really known, although he couldn't make himself allow his nephew to call him that.  By doing so he took the place of father in Matt's mind and he couldn't do that to Harry, not after everything his best friend had gone through to keep his son safe.

Ron would remain Uncle Ron until the end of his days, never Dad.  That was Harry's place, and after all these years he could never be The-Boy-Who-Lived.

One long hand reached over and ruffled the wild black hair.  "You ready?"

"Yes!" Matt practically bounced now that he was out of the stifling parlor.  Not that Ron could blame him.  He was sorely tempted to do some cavorting himself, despite the fact he knew he'd look a bit like a disenchanted rag doll.  Of course, his mother would never let him hear the end of it, let alone the reporters, so he settled for a broad grin.  Matt slid his hand into Ron's much larger one and they continued on their merry way, ignoring the faces plastered to the windows of the Ministry Manor.

Ron quelled his inner Weasley, which was demanding he do something that might be termed rather…rude.  "So," he proclaimed to his nephew, "now that we're away from those human vultures in there, what do you want to do?"

Matt twisted his face into pleading grimace, making his glasses slide down his nose.  "You promised!"

Ron raised a bright red eyebrow.  "I promised?"  Of course the broom in his other hand defeated the point of pulling his nephew's leg, but there were times when Matt was oblivious.

"Yes!  You promised!  'Cause there's a pitch here and everything, and we don't have to go walk through the charm-soup, which would make Grandma mad when we got it all over our clothes."

Grinning down at his nephew, Ron let him know that he didn't really have any intentions of backing down.  "So I did, and I always keep a promise."  He unerringly led the way to the Ministry Manor's Quidditch pitch.  There were some perks to being the son of the Minister of Magic, and although he missed the Burrow terribly he was always free to visit anytime he wanted.  Of course, the catch to this was that he had to put up with Fred's five kids, the youngest of whom were only now just learning to walk.  The Manor's private pitch was an unexpected boon, much better than the paddock at the burrow.

The stood next to it and peered and the slender goal hoops piercing the sky like golden knives, and Ron knew once they were airborne they'd be able to hear the wind thrumming through them.  It was the most pleasant sound he knew of, next to, of course, a crowd roaring his name.

Ron played for none other than the Chudley Canons, and was admittedly the best Keeper in the league (not that he was boasting or anything).  He'd been playing since the war was over because Quidditch was a lot less dangerous than continuing in his work for the Ministry and the Order, and with Matt to think about Ron had to make choices of that sort daily.  Up to and including his love life, or lack thereof, not that Ron minded; Matt was worth any number of the pains he went through for him.

"So," he murmured quietly, "are you ready to break out your broom?"

Matt hopped up and down on his toes in excitement.  It was a wonderful thing to be a child with that much energy.

Ron held out his bundle and was rewarded when his nephew's hazel eyes promptly rivaled saucers in size.  "You mean it," his tone was hushed and reverent.

"Sure thing kid," the gravel of emotions he really didn't want to think about settled around his throat and made the boy peer at him curiously.  "It is yours, after all."  He gestured at the broom.  "Go ahead."

Matt promptly began tugging at the fastenings of the long bundle like a kid unwrapping a Christmas present, which wasn't that far off.  The gleaming broom that was slowly appearing was an entire Christmas in itself and to ride it, well, that was the closest Ron Weasley was ever going to get to heaven.

The Firebolt was a magnificent model of broom; it had set the international standard for the years it had been in production.  They were very rare now because the model had been discontinued back when Ron had been a seventh year when the factory was destroyed.  Only a handful of them existed anymore, most were in the hands of private collectors and not nearly as in good a condition as this.  The broom Matt held in his hands was in almost mint condition, despite surviving a war and being used in ways a good broom was never intended.

Matt, however, didn't know that it had beat Death Eaters over the head on more than one occasion.  All he knew was that it was a spectacular broom, and that it had belonged to his father.  And that alone would have made it the best broom in the world, even if it had been an old twig-less Cleansweep 7, just as long as it had belonged to Harry Potter.

The little boy let it slide from his fingers and it hovered the way it was supposed to, just waiting for someone to get on it.  Ron grinned.  Might as well make it a useful bit of wood and spells.  He swung a long leg over it, and held out his hand.  "You coming up?"

Springing forward, Matt hefted his body up over the broom and Ron obligingly hauled him up the rest of the way.  After a few moments to settled, Ron planted the bottoms of his feet against the soggy ground and pushed off.  The wind whistled in their ears as the red-haired man guided it around the pitch without much thought whatsoever, pulling them into zig-zags, loops, and lazy spirals.

With his head brushed up against Ron's chin, he was able to hear Matt laugh in delight, and glanced down to see his nephew's face as they shot through the air, eyes closed in bliss as the wind pulled relentlessly at their clothes and hair.  If there was one thing that Harry's son loved to do, it was fly.  Ron couldn't wait to see what he could do on his own with a broom, but that would have to wait as his mother was one of the people watching from the windows of the Manor.  So he settled for flying himself, grateful to be out of the Manor, and away from all of the memories he was being forced to remember.

It was August 30, the day that was traditionally celebrated as Remembrance Day in honor of all of those who had been lost.  The date itself was a compromise, having wavered between the day Voldemort and Harry both disappeared for good in March five years ago and the day it had begun several years before that, but had eventually come to the thirtieth so that the Hogwarts students could continue to start the semester on September first.  Although the Weasleys didn't have any Hogwarts students at the moment, as the Minister's family they were expected to be the epitome of society.

They had come a long way from the family who had barely been able to afford school supplies every term.

Ron shook his head and steadied his nephew, keeping the boy's balance on the broom as he slid while they made a sharp turn.  Matt resettled himself and tightened his grip on Ron's arm.  "Faster!"

"What?"

The boy's head brushed against him as he craned his neck and shouted into the wind.  "Faster!"  His Uncle was only too happy to oblige.

They tore around the pitch at breakneck speeds, only too happy to ignore the somberness and affectations that practically dripped off the walls in the Manor.  Eventually the faces at the window disappeared, except one or two occasional looks from the die-hard Quidditch fans of the group, which Ron steadfastly ignored.  Eventually the damp air started to numb his fingers and toes, and it was time to go back in and face the crowd once more.

Applause splattered across their hearing as they dropped back to the earth, and Ron couldn't resist giving the two watchers standing down in the grass a neat little bow.  "And that, gentlemen, is how you train a future Quidditch player."

Neville Longbottom, who had grown from a rather short and rather chubby boy into an an average-sized man with a compact frame, was lounging against one of the trees by the pitch, next to one of Ron's twin brothers.  The distinct lack of a smiling wife on one arm and several small red-haired toddlers on the other immediately identified him as George, not Fred.  He grinned a greeting at them.  "'Ello Neville, George."

Whatever reply Neville had on his lips was drowned out by George's rather bouncy greeting.  "Ron, old chap," he exclaimed, extending a hand as if he hadn't just talked to him a few nights before.  "Bloody good to see you!  It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

Ron rolled his eyes.  Beside him, Matt giggled.

George redirected his efforts.  "And if it isn't my favorite oldest nephew, Matty-poo."

Matt made a face at his Uncle, still grinning comically.  "I'm your only oldest nephew."

"Right you are, lad," George patted his shoulders.  "It's a good thing you weren't a girl.  Or else you'd have to be my favorite fourth eldest niece, wouldn't you?"

Matt, being who he was, missed the implications of that comment.  "But isn't your favorite fourth eldest niece Tallis?"  Tallis Delacour-Weasley, a whole seven months younger than Matt, was one of Bill's brood, and already her father bemoaned the boys that clustered around her.

Stifling a smile, Ron watched at George changed abruptly changed tactics.  "Ah, you're onto me Matty."

"Matt."

"Matt then."  George cocked his head, eyeing the broom in the boy's hand.  "Ah, the Firebolt, broom of champions.  And one certain Harry Potter."  He shook his head for a moment, taking in the rather wet boy.  "C'mon.  We'd better get you inside and warmed up before Mum has a fit.  What do you say to a cup of hot cocoa in the kitchens while I see if I can't come up with a Quidditch story about your Dad."

"Really?"  Matt had been baited, hook, line, and sinker.  "I heard the one about when he swallowed the snitch last night from Uncle Ron."

"Hmmm," George pondered, relieving the boy of the broom to swing it over his shoulder and began to hustle him towards the house.  "What about the time when the rain was so bad nobody could see each other, let alone something as small as the snitch…"

"Uncle Percy told me that one last week."

"He did, did he…hmmm…" it could never be said that George wasn't good with children.  "What about the time he picked up a rogue bludger and Gilderoy Lockhart removed al the bones from his arm?"

"Gilderoy Lockhart?  The guy who teaches dance?"

"Oh yes," George's voice faded off.  "He was DADA professor once, and a marvelously bad one at that…it all started during a Gryffindor/Slytherin match…"

Ron and Neville watched as the two disappeared into the house before Ron turned to Neville questioningly.  His former classmate and fellow Gryffindor shrugged.  "I asked him to keep Matt busy."

"Matt's busy."  Ron dropped onto a bench.  "What do you want, Neville?"

The shorter man sighed and shook his head, days spent in the summer sun bleaching portions of it to dark blonde.  "I've been getting some…disturbing messages from the agents in the West."

The Quidditch player ignored the pit of something that started to roil in his stomach.  When Neville said West he meant the American continents, and Ron tended to ignore thinking about them.  Forcing memories aside, he raised his eyebrows in prompt.  "What sort of messages?"

Neville, who had been elected the hub of their wheel of agents, shrugged and glanced pointedly at the house.  "Nothing I can tell you here.  Even grass can be given ears."  He shoved his dirt-stained hands into his pockets.  "There's not much to them anyway.  Just…unease."  His face darkened.  "And I never send an agent into known danger alone.  Not at any cost."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Ron pushed the memories of what had happened the last times an agent had gone into a situation alone.  It had been his fault; he hadn't been watching properly.

If he had been, Matt might still have a father.

When Neville spoke again, it was quieter.  He knew what Ron was going through; he'd been there too.  "You have an exhibition match in the States next week, don't you?"  His tone was kept lightly conversational, but the message behind it was not.

Ron preferred not to play games that didn't involve flying balls and brooms.  "What do you want me to do?"

Neville smiled serenely.  "Just stay alive."

"Oh, thanks."

"You're welcome."  Neville started back off to the house, and Ron kept pace, which wasn't really that difficult considering he was still an entire head taller.  "So," the Herbology Professor began, "Minerva and I were having a discussion a few days ago—she thinks the Harpies have a fair chance at the Cup next year, and Angelina agrees with her, but Sirius seems to think Portree's the team to go with.  I thought I'd get a professional's opinion before galleons got involved."

Ron frowned, immediately displeased with the eccentricities of the teaching staff, and seized the change of topic as if it were important ministry news.  He'd never been too fond of the ministry anyway.  They discussed the merits of various teams all the way back to the house, although Ron made sure to point out lack of faith in the Canons.  Several times.

The manor's kitchen was a flurry of activity—the few house elves scurrying to keep up with the flow of dishes and food in and out of the kitchen.  The closest one, a short elf that was vaguely female, bounced over to them, a bright pink scarf visible beneath the ministry tea-towels they always donned on formal occasions.  Although Arthur Weasley paid his house-elves, they were still most content when the house was full like this.  "Youngest Mr. Weasley!"  She blinked her glowing yellow eyes.  "What is you and Professor Longbottom doing here?  You should be out in the main hall with the others!"

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but the house elf squeaked on.  "And on such an important day, too, Ronald Weasley."

All right.  This particular house elf had been under the influence of his mother for too long.  He snagged his dress robes from where he had left them hanging on a peg and tugged them over his head, noticing that someone had left a dripping raincoat on the peg next to them and made them damp.

"Mrs. Weasley will be mad, sirs," the house elf—Ron was fairly sure her name was Pinky—began to herd them towards the door, squeaking about the social implications of them being in the kitchen.

Neville looked amused as Pinky dried out Ron's robes with a snap and muttered about them being the wrong color for him.

"Pinky."

"Perhaps Ronald Weasley will let Pinky turn his robes maroon, sir?  And add some lace.  Lace is very stylish."

"Pinky!"

The house elf squeaked and ducked behind a chair.  "Pinky is displeasing Ronald Weasley sir?  Perhaps Ronald Weasley will be liking his robes blue again?"

Ron sighed and glanced at his robes to make sure that yes, they had fallen victim to the house elf with his mother's taste.  "Ronald Weasley would like that very much Pinky."  The little creature snapped her fingers, and the two wizards watched as Ron's robes returned to their original color.  "Thanks Pinky.  You haven't seen my nephew come through here, have you?"

Pinky's squeak was more like a shriek and she waggled her batty ears in excitement.  "You is meaning _Harry Potter's son, sir?"_

Across the room, another house elf dropped a giant crock filled with pudding, splashing it across its plaid plus fours and the surrounding house elves.  Pinky turned to it like a moth to a flame.  "NIPPY!  You is spilling the desserts!"

Ron and Neville watched, astounded, as the house elf turned a rather embarrassed shade of murky green.  "But Pinky is talking about Harry Potter!"

The female house elf put on a superior expression.  "What Pinky talks about is not Nippy's business."

"Did you know they could do that," Ron whispered out of the corner of his eye at Neville as the house elves cowered away from Pinky, who was now ranting about dessert being ruined and they had best get another pudding started.

Neville shrugged.

In what seemed like a Herculean effort, several of the house elves diverted themselves from serving pieces of cake onto plates to surface with another crock of pudding, which Pinky immediately took charge of, effectively forgetting about the two humans.

"Sirs," a voice popped up from beside them, and they turned to see another elf, this one with a garish tie around his neck, wiping his hands anxiously on a dish cloth.  "Twinky saw young Mr. Potter go into the dining room with Mister George Weasley a couple of minutes ago.  They took hot chocolate for the toast, but Twinky wouldn't let them turn the champagne blue."

Ron resisted the urge to grin down at the house elf and managed appropriate thanks before ducking out of the kitchen.  He didn't think the house elves would take very kindly to his laughter.  Neville shook his head, still keeping pace.  "George is still up to his tricks, eh?"

They'd reached the open doors to what Ron's mother liked to call the dance hall, although Ron had secretly dubbed it the chamber of doom.  It was used only for official Ministry business, although his brother Charlie's wedding reception had been held there a few years ago.  Now the walls had been draped with thin white tapestries and candelabras stood between them, throwing their light out upon the massive crowd gathered around the many round tables spread across the floor.  Everybody who was anybody in England's wizarding world was there, and the noise level could have raised the dead.  Straightening their shoulders against the speculating eyes, the two marched towards their table.

Nodding amiably at Taite Powers, who waved at him, Ron agreed.  "Fleur caught him giving Cleo and Raquel store products last week.  Bill said she had him at least four different colors before he escaped.  And that was before she molted."

Neville was saved from having to reply by the appearance of Matt, who was trotting around hand in hand with Sirius Black, wizarding convict turned hero and eventually teacher.  The years had been relatively kind to him; his lean face bore only a few lines while his thick black hair was just starting to gray.  He was grinning widely down at his honorary grandson, listening to him chatter with the reserve found only in individuals who had learned to enjoy life the hard way.

Matt stopped mid-sentence and pounced on Ron, who was promptly blinded by the flash of a camera and surrounded by exclamations of adoration.  Colin grinned at Ron from behind his camera, and went off to find more famous people to pester; that was, after all, what reporters did.

Prying his nephew off easily, Ron grinned at Sirius.  "Sorry."

The Transfiguration Professor shook his head.  "I don't mind at all."  He winked down at the boy.  "Besides, Matt needs some good times with his old godfather before he has to call me Professor."

"Can I call you Professor Padfoot?"  Matt piped up immediately, eyes sparkling with humor.

Sirius reached over and tousled his hair—it wasn't like he was ruining it, after all—and grinned.  "Only if you explain why to Professor McGonagall."

"She'll let me," Matt told him seriously, ignoring the simpering gazes of Eloise Thomas and Susan Bones-Fletchley, who were hovering a few feet away.  "She lets me play with her giant chess set."

Chuckling, Sirius snagged a glass of champagne from a tray that was floating lazily through the crowd.  "We'll see."

"Professor Black?"  A skinny boy a few years older than Matt with a thin face and enormous gray eyes pulled at Sirius' sleeve.  Ron recognized him, but he couldn't necessarily place a name with his face, or him to his parents.  "Professor Lupin wants to talk to you.  And so does my Mo--Mum."

Sirius nodded.  "Of course, Gavin."  He patted Matt's shoulder, and nodded to Ron and Neville.  "Gentlemen."  A smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth.  "Or should I say Gryffindors?  Because we aren't necessarily gentlemen."

"True enough," Ron admitted.  "But aren't you keeping a lady waiting?"

"Oh, of course," Sirius placed a hand over his heart.  "What sort of ladies man am I now?"  He shook his head.  "I'll talk to you after the ceremony.  Gavin; lead on."

As Sirius disappeared through the crowd, Neville led the way to another table, one filled, Ron noticed immediately, with his fellow Gryffindor year mates.  Dean Thomas grinned at him, the action twisting the thin scar on the side of his face, giving him a roguish appearance.  Beside him, Lavender Brown was snagging champagne from yet another floating tray.  She smiled at Matt and gestured to a champagne glass filled with hot cocoa beside.  "Your Uncle George left this for you."

Matt beamed at her, and crawled into the seat, chatting happily with her as the three men exchanged greetings.  Dean's opening comment, of course, was a rather teasing, "Maybe the Canons will make the cup next year."

Lavender paused in reading Matt's upcoming Quidditch career off his palm to swat at him.  "Be nice.  They would've made it if their Seeker hadn't broken her arm in three places during that last game."

"Well, the reserve could have done his job," Dean piped up.  "That's what they get paid for."

"Ooooh," Lavender fumed in good humor.  "Men."

Dean grinned and threw an arm around her shoulder.  "Of course.  What would you do without us?"

"I don't know…be happy?"

"You deserved that," Neville informed Dean.  "Where's your wife?"

Dean smiled broadly in return, flashing his very perfect teeth.  "Over with the other Hufflepuffs.  Somebody had the grand idea of sorting us by House this year.  And by year."

Ron sighed, and glanced at his tablemates, who had gone back to watching the crowd.  Something about this idea unsettled him, but he didn't want to think on it at the moment.  Today was a day to remember; not to be angry.  

Glancing around, he picked out various people in the crowd—Bill sat at a table by himself, surrounded in a sea of little girls with pale blonde hair while his wife held one of Angelina's squirming twins.  Ron grinned to himself at the look on Fleur's face, and mentally gave it six months before Bill had another daughter on the way.  A few tables away from Bill, his other brother Charlie was talking with George, a small red-haired boy clutching at the knees of his dress robes, while one of Percy's brood sat on George's hip, making faces at his cousin while his older sister darted towards Bill's girls.

Weasleys were nothing if not prolific.

Before his thoughts turned sour again, Ron's attention was caught by one of his teammates, the very talented and very beautiful Daphne Mulligan, who had her inky black hair pulled up so it just brushed the shoulders of her bottle-green robes.  "Ronnie!"  She exclaimed loudly, ignoring the men who were following her like vultures.  "I thought you said you weren't coming."

Somewhere in the background, Ron was aware of more cameras flashing.  He settled for smiling nicely and running a hand through his hair.  "You've never met my mother in a bad mood."

"Molly?"  Daphne's eyebrows crawled up nearly to her hairline.  "Of course I have.  She brought me a box of toffee when I broke my arm."

"Mulligan!"

Daphne's head whirled around and she sighed, punching Ron affectionately in the shoulder.  "Sorry mate, gotta go.  Came with coach, and he doesn't like it when I stray.  I think I ought to just put myself on a leash and be done with it."

She whirled away then in a rustle of cloth and black hair, taking her fan club with her.  Ron shook his head after her, trying to connect that particular mankiller with the way he usually saw his fellow Canon, clad in orange robes and mud.  Beside him, Dean's mouth was open.  Ron grinned.  "Don't let her get to you.  She only looks like that because Coach made her."

Dean made a noise that could have been an exclamation of disbelief.

They settled into a fairly comfortable routine of chatting about insignificant things over a dinner of roast chicken and more side dishes than Ron could keep track of, and he weathered Matt's protests stoically when limited to only one dessert although he turned a blind eye when Lavender snuck him half her pudding.  Surprisingly enough the evening passed faster than it usually did, and it was time for the speeches, which was what Ron dreaded most of all.

In years past this part of the dinner was usually punctuated by two or three speeches before the Minister, but Arthur Weasley stood first at the end of the long table the Department heads were seated at.  What little hair he had left had gone completely silver, contrasting the somber dark robes he wore, but a small smile graced his features at the applause that reverberated off the walls.  His years as Minister after Dumbledore's death had taken a toll on him—he looked a little more worn and his face had more wrinkles than most his age, but his eyes were still bright, and his voice was sure.

"Well," he began, "I suppose you all came prepared to hear several long speeches, but sometimes traditions are meant to be ignored or broken, so I thought it would be best to just subject you to one this time, and I promise I won't take too much of your time.  After all, it's all been said already in some form or another today.  So," he lifted his glass of champagne, "I'd like to propose a toast."

There was a mass of shuffling feet and squeakings of chairs being pushed back.  Ron sighed and held his glass, steadying Matt as he stood on his chair to see over the heads of all the others.

Arthur smiled again, scanning the crowd, and after the hubbub had settled down, he raised his glass higher in the air.  "A toast in remembrance for all of us who survived, but especially for those who were lost, both victims and soldiers, friends and family.  May they not be forgotten."

A quiet murmur of assent spread through the crowd, and over a hundred glasses were raised in toast.  On the other side of Matt, Ron could hear Lavender sniffling quietly.

Dean raised his glass to the center of the table.  "Might as well get it over then.  For Seamus."

With a watery smile, Lavender touched her glass to Dean's.  "And Parvati."

Matt stretched out his arm to put his glass of cocoa to the other two.  "My Mum and Dad."

Bringing his glass up to the others, Neville nodded in agreement, and it was Ron's turn.  He had to bite back a snort of disbelief as he realized who they were asking him to remember, and then a pit of anger welled in him.  They didn't know what he did.  Her face loomed in his mental eye, bruised and tearful as she tried to talk to him.  He hadn't seen her since.

After a moment or two to collect himself, he silently tapped his glass to the others before downing half its contents in a single swallow.

Now was not the time to remember Hermione.


End file.
